


ASOIAF Drabbles Part I

by mneiai



Series: mneiai's ASOIAF drabbles [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aegon's Conquest, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Black or Red a Dragon Is Still a Dragon, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Drabble Collection, Drabbles may become their own fics eventually, F/M, Fan theories, Gen, Jon Snow is Called Aemon, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, King Rhaegar, M/M, Modern Westeros, Multi, Not Beta Read, One-Sided Attraction, Politics, Rhaegar Lives, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Spoilers, Viserys as a Good Brother/Uncle, canon-typical incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-01-25 19:48:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 32,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18581386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: A collection of drabbles inspired by the books and/or show. Mostly AU.First chapter has brief summaries of all drabbles.Recent Chapters:Chapter 44: Doran receives word of Jon Snow's heritage (Gen)Chapter 45: Jon's resurrection (Gen)Chapter 46: A 3-way war has broken out in Westeros (Rhaegar Won AU) (Gen)Chapter 47: Jon gets irrefutable proof of his bloodline (Gen)Chapter 48: Daenerys comes for an exiled Jon (Dany/Jon)Chapter 49: By Rhoynish law, Rhaenys should rule. (Rhaenys/Jon)Chapter 50: Jon ends the game of thrones (Gen)





	1. Brief Descriptions of Each Drabble

**Author's Note:**

> These are very short pieces of ideas that, if I had the will might become whole works.
> 
> I really like canon divergent stuff and I think some of the most interesting is the stuff that can be done with Jon, so he'll be a major character in most.
> 
> Tags will only be used for characters who are identified and have dialogue or are major characters in the drabble. I'll try to put the major idea of the drabble as the title so you can easily go through the chapters for what will interest you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief descriptions of each drabble to make it easier for people to navigate to the ones they're interested in, since this is getting fairly long now.

Chapter 1: This chapter, now

Chapter 2: Jon's visions during his resurrection (Gen)  
Characters: Jon

Chapter 3: Arianne and Jon are destined soulmates (Arianne/Jon)  
Characters: Arianne, Doran, Ned, Jon

Chapter 4: Jon and Aegon politicking (Aegon & Jon)  
Characters: Aegon, Jon, minor

Chapter 5: Elia having a domestic moment with her three children (Elia & Rhaenys & Jon)  
Characters: Elia, Rhaenys, Jon (Aemon)

Chapter 6: Rhaenys, in hiding in Essos, dreams of Jon going to the Wall (Rhaenys & Aegon) (first chapter of Red Ruins)  
Characters: Rhaenys, Aegon

Chapter 7: Jon goes back in time and chooses the free folk (Gen)  
Characters: Jon, Mance

Chapter 8: Jon grows up in the Northern kingdom thinking he's a bastard, but finds out he's a prince in the South (Gen)  
Characters: Jon, minor

Chapter 9: Big brother Viserys grows up trying to protect Daenerys and Jon, even against their own family (Viserys & Daenerys & Jon)  
Characters: Viserys

Chapter 10: Sansa and Jon are back in time and messing with the Lannister twins (Sansa/Jon kind of) (chapter from Trinity)  
Characters: Sansa, Jon

Chapter 11: Jon doesn't know or care if Aegon is fake (Jon & Aegon)  
Characters: Jon, Aegon, JonCon

Chapter 12: Myrcella finds out she might be a bastard born of incest and Rhaenys comforts her (Rhaenys & Myrcella)  
Characters: Myrcella, Rhaenys

Chapter 13: Back-in-time Jon trains with Jaime (Jon & Jaime) (chapter from Trinity)  
Characters: Jon, Jaime

Chapter 14: Rhaenys suspects Jon and Sansa's betrothal is part of a Northern plot (Jon/Sansa, Rhaenys & Jon)  
Characters: Rhaenys, Jon, Sansa

Chapter 15: Jon fights the Others and they realize there's a connection there (Jon)  
Characters: Jon, Others

Chapter 16: Request chapter

Chapter 17: Some consequences of Jon's resurrection (Gen)  
Characters: Jon, Ghost, Others

Chapter 18: Rhaenys stops Jon from taking the Black (Rhaenys & Jon, Rhaenys & Aegon) (Part of Red Ruins)  
Characters: Jon, Rhaenys, Ghost, minor

Chapter 19: Ghost thinks about Jon (Ghost & Jon)  
Characters: Ghost

Chapter 20: Jon grows up a neglected prince and becomes resentful (Gen)  
Characters: Jon, minor

Chapter 21: Aegon is with Arya because she's like Jon (Aegon/Arya, Aegon/Jon)  
Characters: Aegon

Chapter 22: Roose Bolton finds a runaway Jon and decides to befriend him to Domeric and use him for his own ends (Jon & Domeric)  
Characters: Roose, Jon, Domeric

Chapter 23: Jon's sick of time traveling and trying to be a hero, so he decides to become a villain (Jon & Euron)  
Characters: Jon, Euron

Chapter 24: Jon finds something unexpected on Skagos while mining for dragonglass (Gen)  
Characters: Jon, The Cannibal, Rickon

Chapter 25: The Prince That Was Promised was promised to the Others (Gen)  
Characters: Jon, Others

Chapter 26: Sansa tries to sell Jon to his aunt for Northern Independence (Daenerys/Jon kind of)  
Characters: Daenerys, Jon

Chapter 27: Robb, Prince in the North, faces down Aegon's Conquest alongside his cousin, the Night's King (Robb & Arya, Robb & Jon)  
Characters: Robb, Arya, Jon

Chapter 28: Sansa plots with her allies to take down King Rhaegar and his family with the Blackfyres (Gen)  
Characters: Sansa, Jon

Chapter 29: Jon leaves an ungrateful Westeros behind after his resurrection (Jon/Dany)  
Characters: Jon, Daenerys

Chapter 30: King Aegon VI captures his little brother before he goes to war with their aunt (Gen)  
Characters: Aegon, Jon

Chapter 31: Jon goes back in time and attends the Tourney at Harrenhal as Lyanna Stark's twin brother (Gen)  
Characters: Jon

Chapter 32: Aegon finds out Jon Stark, Master of Coin for Stannis Baratheon, is his half-brother. (Gen)  
Characters: Aegon, Varys, JonCon

Chapter 33: Roose Bolton discovers a starving vampire childe in Winterfell (Gen)  
Characters: Roose Bolton, Jon

Chapter 34: After then second Dance of Dragons between Daenerys and Aegon, Jon becomes King (Gen)  
Characters: Jon

Chapter 35: Mance reveals to Jon that he's been Rhaegar the whole time (Gen)  
Characters: Rhaegar, Jon

Chapter 36: Jon failed at the end of GoT and deals with the consequences of Queen Daenerys (some Jon/Dany)  
Characters: Jon

Chapter 37: Rhaegar meets his newest son and has to accept he's once more been wrong about a prophecy (Gen)  
Characters: Rhaegar, Ned, Elia

Chapter 38: Jon comes back to life, again (Gen)  
Characters: Jon, Daenerys

Chapter 39: Grey Worm finds Jon in the throne room with blood on his hands. GoT series finale AU. (Gen)  
Characters: Grey Worm, Jon

Chapter 40: Rhaegar captures Jon after he ran to learn the magics of the Light side (Gen)  
Characters: Rhaegar, Jon

Chapter 41: The Night King's becomes obsessed with Jon, who he finds alone in his domain. (NK/Jon)  
Characters: Night King, Jon

Chapter 42: Arianne comes back from exile to take back Dorne and fix the Seven Kingdoms (Arianne & Jon) (Post-GoT)  
Characters: Arianne, Jon

Chapter 43: Rhaegar makes a betrothal announcement at family breakfast that Jon is not expecting (Rhaenys/Jon) (Modern Westeros AU)  
Characters: Jon, Rhaegar, Rhaenys, Daenerys, Aegon

Chapter 44: Doran receives word about Jon Snow's heritage and Arianne reacts to it (Gen)  
Characters: Arianne, Doran, Ellaria

Chapter 45: Another take on Jon's book resurrection (Gen)  
Characters: Misc Castle Black peeps, Melisandre, Jon

Chapter 46: A 3-way war has broken out in Westeros between Aegon VI, Viserys III, and Robert I (Rhaegar Won AU)(Gen)  
Characters: Jon, Aegon, Sarella, Oberyn

Chapter 47: Jon, in a desperate stand against the Others, gets irrefutable proof of his blood (Gen)  
Characters: Jon

Chapter 48: Daenerys comes for an exiled Jon after the events of GoT (Daenerys/Jon)  
Characters: Daenerys, Jon

Chapter 49: By Rhoynish law, Rhaenys should rule, and she's going to make that so. (Rhaegar Won AU) (Rhaenys/Jon)  
Characters: Rhaenys, Jon


	2. Jon Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its arms reached out for him, its mouth opening again, and it called his name, but it didn't call "Jon."

"Jon," his name came to him like a song on the wind, a woman's voice that he'd never heard before, but seemed so familiar. "Jon."

He followed it, only realizing as he strode by the statues of Lords and Kings where he was. His name sounded again, echoing against stone, and his pace increased. Further and further down, deeper into the crypts than he'd ever gone before, more than he physically could have gone. It was all open, doorways and stairwells clear. The statues twisted away, as if fighting to escape, too distracted to pay him any mind.

When he finally knew, somehow, that he was as far down as he was going, he saw one last door. It was halfway open and snow was piled around it, blowing out towards him.

"Jon," the voice beckoned and he braced himself, glancing inside.

Icicles hung like dragon's teeth from the vaulted ceiling, the walls a slick black stone, and opposite the doorway, facing him, a statue he'd seen in the crypts nearly every time he'd gone down there. It belonged further up, he knew, and yet also knew that it belonged where it was, too.

And now it had eyes, real eyes, eyes the exact shade of his own staring deep into his. Its arms reached out for him, its mouth opening again, and it called his name, but it didn't call "Jon."

***

He woke with a gasp, pulling air into empty lungs, his whole body shaking with the effort. All around him was noise--shouts, chanting, screams. Wood crackling with fire.

He was on the fire, he was on a PYRE. 

Letting out a cry of his own, he pushed away from it, stumbling until he threw himself into the snow beyond, his burning clothes hissing as the cold and wet put out their flames.

His chest ached, every movement reminding him of the feel of blades sinking into his flesh, of betrayal stabbing through his heart worse than any weapon. He barely felt the hands grabbing him, propping him up.

"Jon?! Jon, are you alright?"

He thought of the blades in the darkness, of the feeling of Ghost's teeth against human throats, of the frozen, impossible room in the crypts and tried to break away.

"Dead. I died, I should be dead."

"He's talking, wights don't talk. Not in our languages."

"Why aren't I dead?"

"Shhhh, calm down."

The voices kept going, to each other, to him, he wasn't sure. But at some point they helped him indoors, at another they dried off the melted snow, wiped off the ash of burnt clothes, and left him to rest.

He laid down and stared up at the ceiling, wondering how long it would take him to start feeling warm again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a take on some of the tinfoil-y theories around about the Starks and the NK/NQ and Lyanna.


	3. Arianne/Jon - Soulmarks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Soulmarks...are meant to fix things. To put them back how they were meant to be."

"Soulmarks," Doran murmured, staring at his daughter's arm, mind reeling at the implications, "are meant to fix things. To put them back how they were meant to be."

She could still, technically, be a queen--if her soulmate consented to sharing her with another. To the plot to overthrow the Usurper. Which, given the mark, seemed...unlikely.

"And what wrong would this be fixing?" Arianne hissed, glaring at the mark as if it had betrayed her.

Oberyn, seated beside them and seemingly amused by the entire situation, motioned to the mark with the cup of wine he held. "They say Eddard Stark planned to marry Ashara, if Aerys hadn't killed his brother and forced him to marry the Tully girl, his bastard would be a trueborn son. Nephew to the Warden of the North, cousin to the Lord of Starfall, and son of...who knows what holdfast Stark would have been given. Here, in the North, even in the Stormlands."

The explanation had soothed some of Arianne's wrath and now she tentatively stroked the white direwolf on her skin. They may not have had much regard for the North, but she had a certain place in her heart for Daynes.

"There aren't many members of his mother's family left. Could he be legitimized a Dayne? Our people would find that less offensive."

Doran frowned, wondering, not for the first time when the subject of Ned Stark's Dorne-born bastard came up, why the Daynes had ever let him take the boy in the first place.

"I'll suggest that, when I start corresponding with the father."

***

Ned felt dizzy, staring at the mark on Jon's arm. Catelyn had been dismissed, close to throwing a fit that Ned would not be able to ignore, and his children were still trying to work out what this meant, complaining about Jon being forced to leave (or, in Sansa's case, swooning over how romantic it was).

The white direwolf was a pretty thing, surprisingly bold against Jon's pale skin, a sharp contrast to the Martell's sun and spear it seemed to be howling at.

In another life, Jon would have already been a prince, without the mark. In another life, he would have been Rheagar's second son, worthy of the heir to Dorne and perhaps something of a way for him to mend the damaged bonds that taking Lyanna had caused with his Dornish family. 

But in this life, Jon knew nothing of that, and could only stare, mystified, thrumming with excitement. What bastard didn't dream of the legitimacy soulmarks gave them? What bastard hadn't longed for the acceptance Dorne promised them?

"Is it...is it because of my mother?" Jon whispered, after Ned had ordered the other children to bed for the night.

Pulling Jon into a hug, Ned simply nodded. It wasn't, strictly, a lie, and he still feared speaking the truth even in the security of his own solar. 

He'd have to write to Starfall as soon as possible, he realized, and hope that the fragile pact created at the end of the war, to protect the boy Ser Arthur had given his life for, still held. The Martells could far too easily piece together the truth and destroy the shaky peace the realm now had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In soulmate fics with Jon people often have like no idea why *Jon* and I just thought this basis for soulmarks worked well because it would be totally reasonable for Rhaegar's spare that maybe caused controversy in Dorne to be married to Arianne.


	4. Targ AU Gen (plotting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was all a trick.

"...stand accused of plotting treason against your king...."

Aemon waited in the shadows, listening with half an ear as the crimes were listed, the level of detail slowly wiping the calm looks off of the lords' faces.

When they reached the point in their protests when they demanded witnesses, he smoothly stepped forward, walking right up to the front of the room and ascending the stairs beside his brother's throne.

"I admit," Aegon continued, looking so satisfied that Aemon almost glanced at his crotch to see if he was getting off on the show they'd created, "I'm still baffled at how so many in my kingdom seemed to think approaching my little brother with their plots was a good idea."

"But you hate each other!" some brave soul in the back of the crowd of prisoners shouted, drawing a laughing fit from Rheanys that she made no attempt to hide.

Aemon rolled his eyes. "My mother was a Stark. Even if I DID hate him, I would still stand by his side and defend his rightful place."

"This was all a trick," another gasped, "you--you pretended to be divided so we'd come to you."

"Well," at that Aemon shifted closer to the throne, he and Rheanys dark pillars on either side of their paler brother, the Queen and the Prince of Dragonstone a united front with the King, "I WAS raised with Martells, there's only so much Northern blood can withstand." 

He smirked, swearing he could feel Aegon's smugness radiating off of him like heat from a flame. All the while the rest of the court shifted and murmured, clearly having to rethink every move of the Game they'd been plotting. Uncle Doran would be so proud of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I do like Jaehaerys for the J and also the easy nickname, I've been brought over to the Aemon camp by the brilliant arguments for it, not least of all how Aegons had Aemons as brothers and how Jon would have the same familial relationship to Maester Aemon as Maester Aemon had to KG Aemon. You can find a whole collection of reasons why Aemon works really, really well [on this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/6n3sip/spoilers_extended_his_true_name_a_detailed/).


	5. Targ AU Gen (domestic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going back to her own handy work, Rhaenys frowned.

Rhaenys sighed as Aegon ran through their mother's solar, grabbing something or other he must have forgotten before running back out. 

"He doesn't even say hello anymore." Her mother shook her head before turning her attention back to the letters on her desk. Aegon used to spend these lazy afternoons with them, but ever since their father had started 'training' him he was never around.

Going back to her own handy work, Rhaenys frowned before manhandling her littlest brother around. "I was thinking braids like this, for the feast tomorrow."

Elia looked back up again, studying the hair. "For you or for him?"

"Mother!" Aemon protested, though he clearly expected to be ignored.

"Me. I could wear those new earrings Uncle Viserys sent from Braavos."

"I seem to recall those being a present for me...."

"Oh? I think you're mistaken. They were clearly meant for me."

Aemon snickered and Rhaenys gave a light tug to his hair, not that it was any worse than what she'd been doing to him earlier while working on the braids. Really, it was his own fault for being born with dark, thick hair like she had, he made the perfect model.


	6. Targ AU (Rhaenys lives)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We can't let this happen, Egg. He's our little brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've now moved this verse into a separate fic, [Red Ruins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795337).

"Septa, I'm fine," Rhaenys insisted, her temper flaring.

"Are you sure?" Lemore hesitated, glancing between the two siblings before finally excusing herself, shutting the door behind Aegon.

Her brother hurried to sit on the cot beside her, taking one of her hands in his. "What is it?"

"The Wall," she stated, Aegon's mind running through every possible meaning behind that before she clarified, "He's going to the Wall. They'll finally force him out of Winterfell and convince him to take the Black."

Soon Aegon was feeling as wrathful as she did. "And he'll agree? Even after finding out the truth?"

She gave a humorless laugh. "The Usurper's Dog never tells him the truth. He goes to the Wall thinking he's Ned Stark's bastard."

"When?" Aegon stood, pacing around the tiny cabin Rhaenys and Lemore shared.

"A few months, at most. We can't let this happen, Egg. He's our little brother--I know Jon and the others don't believe us, think any time my dreams are right it's a coincidence, but you KNOW he's out there. The dragon has three heads."

"We're not ready, we're nowhere near ready. We need a few years, not a few months, Rhae! He's going to die in the cold because Stark can't protect a child!"

Rhaenys shuddered, biting her lip, despair building until she forced it back down. She was a dragon. She was the sun. She would not let this break her.

"We don't need to invade to stop this. No, don't give me that look, think! He'll be sent with a small group, we'll just need people to stop them and...and...."

"Kidnap the son of the Warden of the North IN the North?"

"We have time to plan how to actually do it. We'll need trustworthy people, or at least ones we know will finish the job, and...and maybe...maybe I go, too."

Freezing, Aegon turned back to look at her, horrified. "What?"

"A Dornishwoman might be a bit odd, but I'll stand out way less than you, little brother. And if he is like us, there has to be something that will make him trust me. Maybe he dreams like I do."

"Or maybe he'll think you're delusional."

"He'll go to the Wall knowing whoever his mother is the answer is so horrible or huge that his 'father' would rather he risk dying than know it. As long as I can get him to take the time to consider what I tell him...he'll realize it's the only answer that makes sense."

"I don't like this. Not at all." Aegon took a deep breath. "But...but I'm not going to let him take the Black. It was bad enough when he was living surrounded by our enemies, at the Wall he'll be surrounded by criminals and Wildlings."

They spent more time thinking through logistics, trying to come up with contingencies for any situation. When they had the best plan they were going to get, they simply sat in the quiet of the room for a few moments, gripping each other's hands.

"Egg...we're going to meet our little brother," Rhaenys whispered, worry finally replaced by excitement. "He's going to be here, with us, safe."

"He will be. We won't let anyone take him from us again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Rhaenys lives stuff and imagining what having big sis around would do for her little brothers, and this is sort of an extreme take where she has various true dreams and some of them have taught her about Jon and his life.
> 
> Also, like, they both have the worst view of the Stark's and so their POV on what is happening (Jon being manipulated into going to the Wall) may not be entirely accurate.


	7. Jon Gen (time travel AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is the safest place in the world for me."

Jon held his head high, watching Mance watch him in return. He itched to look at some of the others, but he didn't let himself. Starting off too familiar would unsettle them.

"And why would a little lordling like you want to live out here? We don't have any castles and servants for you, certainly nothing like Winterfell."

He blinked. "How...?"

Did Mance remember, too? That would make things so much easier--and harder.

"You look like your father."

Jon's shoulders slumped a little and he let out a laugh at how ridiculous he was being. If no one else remembered, not even people who had been there at the end, like Sansa, then of course he wouldn't. Mance knew because they'd met before, when he was a child.

"No, I don't, not unless you're looking closely." He gave Mance a challenging glare. "I look like my MOTHER." He savored the confusion that caused, before continuing. "That's...that's why I'm here. I can't hide anywhere South of the Wall, the loyalists won't believe me soon enough and anyone else will turn me over. Gods only know what Dorne would do to me. And they'll look for me in Essos, that's where the others fled." Dany and her brother and Aegon, who was still hiding in some boat somewhere, so even if Jon could find him, it would be too much of a risk.

"...Lyanna Stark," Mance began, working through the pieces he'd been given, "was taken by Prince Rhaegar. And after the war her brother came back with her bones and a babe."

Jon nodded. "My uncle hid me as his bastard, but the older I get the more like my father I get. So he sent me to take the Black and I...didn't want to."

Grumbling from the others, then, who still hated him on sight for being a kneeler but respected someone who thought badly of the crows.

"It may sound ridiculous, but this is the safest place in the world for me," and he'd had moments where he'd second-guessed himself, where he thought of running far off to Asshai instead, before remembering how attractive his blood would be, "what do you care what the king in the South wants? Or who my father was?"

And there was a part of him that remembered the love he'd found with Ygritte, the moments when Mance had felt so much like a mentor, the friendship with Tormund, the...whatever he'd had with Val, at the end. He WANTED to save these people and knowing what he knew, maybe he could. Get them the dragonglass in the hidden caches, find some way to get them South without a slaughter. Make it so Stannis was never invited to the Wall and there was no warning about the attack, at the least.

He loved people in the South, his heart ached thinking about what they'd soon be going through, but after everything, after they'd been saved from the Others and still fucked up the world with their games, he'd realized this second chance of his would never work on them. If he could benefit anyone, it would be these people, who cared more about survival than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like a lot of time travel AUs have things getting too fucked up and Jon or someone going back to try to save everyone all over again, but I was thinking what if it wasn't the Others that were destroying the world, but the politics in the aftermath of them, when Jon's thinking everything will get better and instead it keeps getting worse and worse.


	8. Jon Gen (Two kingdoms AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are a prince of the blood."

The older Jon got, the worse the whispers became. Dragonspawn, they hissed, behind his back, rapespawn. He knew, because he had eyes, because he had his uncles and cousins to compare himself to, that every year he looked less like a Stark. Which must mean he looked more like his father.

Uncle Ned tried to be there for him, but his uncle King Brandon insisted on keeping him at Winterfell, and so they only saw each other infrequently. The King could barely look at him, not sober, at least, not when he wasn't mourning his sister.

Jon knew very few things about his mother. He knew she was beautiful, and willful, and died when he was born. He knew people said, his uncles said, she'd been kidnapped by his father, raped by him, kept captive far to the South, but the older he got, the more he had to question that. No one seemed to agree how or why, or even exactly when, she was taken. The only one who would know, Uncle Benjen, had exiled himself to the Wall and blamed himself for everything. 

Domeric Bolton had admitted, when they were on a hunt with Robb and a few other boys, exhausted, cold, and using ale as a distraction, that he'd heard she'd run away. That she had huge fights with her father and decided to explore the South. That sounded like something that Arya would do and Arya was supposedly just like his mother.

He wondered if that was why he couldn't live with Uncle Ned, because he'd be too close to the South, drawn there like his mother before him.

It wasn't until he was twelve that he found out the South had another story of him. He was old enough to go into Wintertown on his own and a coming festival meant it was even busier than normal, traveling traders filling the streets with their goods.

He found a brave one selling jewelry from the South, delicate, intricate pieces that were very different than what Jon was used to seeing. They spoke casually as he asked after them, curious, and at some point he let his name slip.

There'd been silence, a bracelet almost slipping from the man's hands as they shook. "My prince," he'd whispered, reverent, and Jon had quickly shaken his head.

"No, I--my cousins are, I'm a bastard, a Snow."

"You," the man's voice had been but a whisper, his eyes wide and wary as they flickered around their surroundings. "You are a prince of the blood," he insisted. 

It was then, and in bits and pieces from others, that Jon found out he was a prince in the South. A trueborn Targaryan in their eyes. The Stolen Prince, the hostage kept by the Northern Kingdom.

Before that could even fully set in, he walked into his room one day to find a package on his bed. He frowned, wondering if it was mischief a cousin had gotten up to, or mistakenly left there, but instead found, with a frantically beating heart, a letter and a dagger of Valyrian steel, the hilt black with rubies, the sheath etched with dragons. 

Nothing he could ever wear. Nothing he could ever use. Not in the North. It felt like treason to even look at it.

The letter was even worse.

 _My dearest son,_ it began, as if that was normal, as if someone had ever called him such before.

The words were, for the most part, mild, they revealed no great information, he knew, and asked for nothing, but they felt like the most important words he'd ever read.

His father. The King in the South. Writing to him about how much he wished he was there, was 'home'. About his brother and sister, about the Queen, who he apparently should think of as his mother despite that she wasn't, despite that the North claimed his father had dishonored her by taking Lyanna Stark. 

Prince of Summerhall, Jon realized he was called. Prince Aemon Targaryan. 

He had no way of getting rid of the dagger and couldn't bring himself to burn the letter, so they both went behind a loose brick in his wall, which he shifted his desk to block just a little more. 

His very existence, he thought, was treason against the North, he could hardly make it worse.

Every moon or so a new gift and letter would arrive. A book on Targaryan culture, that was probably just as much propaganda as the anti-Targaryan sentiment in the North (Jon certainly didn't FEEL divine), but that he soaked up just because it was about his family. A box of delicate treats that the accompanying letter said were his sister's favorites--he cried over that, curled up around his pillow and careful not to get a single tear on the parchment, because the letter itself came from his sister.

He pulled away from the Starks around him, head full of traitorous dreams about the dragons who so desperately seemed to want him. At Winterfell he felt like he was living a lie. Everyone else there knew he was a hostage, pretending just to him that he wasn't. No wonder King Brandon kept him close even though he hated him. No wonder Sansa was coldly polite even though he was a 'bastard'. 

If Uncle Ned had been there, he thought he would have gone to him. Would have told him at the very first package and let him search for the Southern spy in their midst. But he wasn't there and Jon was in too deep now, with a dozen letters from his father, and Rhaenys, and Aegon ('but everyone calls me Egg still, even though I'm nearly a man grown'), and Elia who addressed every letter to him as a son even though she had not birthed him. 

The day the next package would arrive, he left a note right where it would be placed. If someone was getting these things to him, surely they could send something on for him.

It was a simple thing, not addressed to anyone, not signed. If it was found on the spy, it would be hard to trace back to Jon.

_I want to come home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the different takes on what happened to Lyanna based on where people's loyalties lie and also love Targ family feels and AUs where the North was never conquered so yeah


	9. Viserys Gen (AU where people died but Aegon's king)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You each will only have each other and the world has been so cruel to true dragons."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Lyanna was kept at Dragonstone during the war, but still died, and Elia and her children survived.

"You must be strong for the little ones, my dragon," his mother had said as the storm raged outside and he clutched her hand. "Rhaegar isn't here to protect them, they'll need you. Daenerys and Aemon will need you. You each will only have each other and the world has been so cruel to true dragons."

Viserys still remembered the moment when his mother's life had fled, just after his promise as if that alone was what could finally bring her peace. Dany's shatteringly loud crying had somehow gotten even louder and Aemon, who had always been a preternaturally quiet babe, had begun to cry, as well. As had he, not ashamed of it, because even dragons could mourn their mothers.

He had always done his best to take care of them. Growing up together on Dragonstone while Elia took her own children to Dorne had made the three of them more like three siblings. At times Viserys would shamefully admit it was better now than it had been with Rhaegar. If only his mother had been there with them, it would have been perfect.

Eventually, they were made to go to King's Landing. It would have just been Viserys, and years earlier, but he'd managed to put up enough of a fuss to not leave until the others did. Viserys' experiences with court life were limited, and certainly nothing from his father's court would hopefully be replicated, but there had been many ladies and lords who had traveled to visit Dragonstone (saying it was in memory of their mother, such as Lord Lannister and his children, or Aemon's, such as Lord Manderly and Lord Bolton), and they had been helpful in educating the trio on the game of thrones enough to know that a united front would be necessary. Aegon had all of the power over them and if they let him separate them, they'd be lost.

So they'd taken to dressing similarly, to avoiding the hobbies that the others didn't participate in and couldn't watch, to strolling to events with Viserys and Aemon on either side of Dany, holding her arms in theirs.

It infuriated Elia, Viserys knew, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit that was half the reason he did it. He had been more than old enough to remember her attitude towards him, the not so sly comparisons she made between him and his father, the suggestions to Rhaegar that he was a threat to their son and should be sent to the Citadel or the Wall.

For his sister and nephew, he knew it was a lifeline. They had grown up as twins, for all Aemon had been months older than Dany and his hair and eyes were from his mother. They had always spent most of their time together, something Viserys had never bothered discouraging, knowing that the two had surely been born in the same year so that they could be wed. Yet, as soon as they reached King's Landing, Aemon's half-siblings had done everything they could to separate him out from his aunt and uncle.

Viserys had come into his solar and found his sister near tears because she'd been tricked away from her 'twin' too many times not to start to hate them. Aemon had always known to return there after he separated from the others, begging Dany to forgive him though he could hardly refuse the King an audience when requested. Viserys would hold them both and tell them stories his mother had told him, of their ancestors, of Valyrian magic and dragonriding. Maybe he was a little old for such tales himself, but he was their big brother, and their father, and the only one who cared about them.

He thought it ironic that if they'd just been left alone on Dragonstone, his sister's interest for dragons would have never become so severe. She would have never hatched the three eggs--three for the three of them, siblings in every way that counted, truer dragons than the other two could ever hope to be--and started off a far worse succession crisis than Viserys or Aemon alone would have.

They were the dragonriders, they had their blood on display for the world, and if Aemon's mother's blood sometimes tempered the fire inside of him, pushing him to calm them in turn, it only helped their cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a firm believer in the idea that Viserys would have been a different person if he hadn't had quite so awful a life, but also that he'd probably still end up with some sort of obsessive behavior. 
> 
> In this, he, Daenerys, and Jon grow up in Dragonstone together partially because that was where they all were at the end of the war and partially because Elia went back to Dorne with her children to mourn/recover/get the fuck out of the Red Keep with all of its terrifying memories for a bit, and Jon isn't exactly welcome there in the early days after the war. And by the time they return to King's Landing, Dragonstone is home for Jon and they don't want to tear him away from it yet.


	10. Sansa/Jon (kinda) (time travel AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could they say, after all? That they knew what it looked like when siblings liked each other more than siblings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put the drabbles for this AU into a separate collection, now, [Trinity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659911/chapters/44251546).

There had been very few amusements at the end, as the dead swarmed the Eyrie they'd managed to get to on dragon back despite the weather, and the fire raged around them. No, the end of the world had been stress, seriousness, and tears, staring into the eyes of the few remaining Starks as they set off the wildfyre caches.

Coming back, Sansa felt half-mad. She SHOULD want to fix things, and certainly she'd try, but a part of her just...wanted to enjoy life, as well.

Jon, ever dutiful, had been hard to convince at first, but he'd eventually given in, as Sansa and Arya both reasoned with him. As a united front to their family, they were unstoppable.

And so, by the time the Starks journeyed South for a second Stark Hand and an eventual (second) Stark Princess, Jon was legitimized, squired to a Kingsguard as Bran may yet someday be, and coming with them.

The game of thrones was so much easier when Sansa knew what the motivations were of the pieces. And father, gods bless him, was so easy to move about.

But her favorite game had to be the one she and Jon devised, late at night, curled into one another in her rooms. They knew he was her cousin, after all, but so few others did.

And so whenever one of the Lannister twins were about, the two exchanged loving glances, became far more tactile, and gave every impression that they felt a bit MORE than siblings should. Even half-siblings (especially twins).

Arya was equal parts disgusted and amused, but helped them in their deceit by dropping hints that Sansa and Jon spent lots of time together whenever she was among Cersei's ladies, using her training as a Faceless Man to blend in with women she mocked and derided in their past life.

Jaime and Cersei were constantly unsettled in their presence--what could they say, after all? That they knew what it looked like when siblings liked each other more than siblings? And any attempt they made to remove the Starks was easy enough to combat by Sansa making simpering eyes at Petyr or Jon excitedly asking the King for another story about his time as a ward with their father. People LIKED Sansa and Jon, which was more than any Lannister could say.

If anything, Sansa would insist, any time one of the others asked if perhaps they should stop, this only helped their own game. Driving Cersei mad before Robert's death would be so much better for everyone involved.


	11. Jon & fAegon Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My cousin Robb was my brother, he was nearly my twin, that we weren't actually siblings didn't affect that."

Every other person in the tent seemed to freeze at his words, even those who had been intent to ignore Jon snapped their attention to him.

"...You don't believe I'm actually your brother?" Aegon narrowed his eyes, looking torn between outraged and pained.

Jon shook his head and replied, voice more gentle than it had been, "I'm saying I don't care if you're Aegon Targaryan, son of Rhaegar and Elia. Whether or not we could be brothers--that's not limited to blood. My cousin Robb was my brother, he was nearly my twin, that we weren't actually siblings didn't affect that." 

Then he looked around the room again, and continued, "What does it matter? Wouldn't another Aegon wish to get revenge against the people who murdered his family? Putting someone using the Targaryan name back on the Iron Throne, that's enough."

Connington scoffed. "If you don't even think he's a Targaryan, then you think you have the greater claim."

Jon didn't stop from rolling his eyes. It had been months, now, toiling through distrust with these conspirators and would-be conquerors and still every time he spoke to Connington it was like starting from scratch.

"I don't want to be King. And technically even if Aegon is my brother by blood, I'll still have a better chance of taking the throne--I was raised in Westeros, by someone all sides would admit was an honorable man, I've got Rhaegar's harp, and my story might be hard to believe, but it's more believable than his." He pointed out things he'd avoided actually saying, but now thought he should have from the start. "But I don't want the throne, so all those points that make me the more believable Targaryan? I'm using those to support Aegon's claim. And bring you all the North along with me."

Aegon still looked shaken, but better than he had, and he reached out to squeeze Jon's shoulder. "And I thank you for that, little brother," he said the endearment pointedly, but there wasn't any falsehood to it. He craved such close family, another Targaryan who he could depend on, and he'd already proven to the others he wouldn't give Jon's presence up without a fight.

"Red dragon, black dragon, I don't care, big brother. You'll be a good King. The best in generations." 

He cleared his throat, flushing, as he was fairly sure he heard someone cooing at them. 

"Now, I think we have an invasion to get back to?"


	12. Rhaenys & Myrcella Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...You really think it doesn't matter?"

Rhaenys was hardly anyone's first choice for comfort, she knew, at least not outside the family. She was a princess, for one, and looked and acted so much like a Martell that people sometimes seemed to forget she wasn't one.

But in this case, she didn't see anyone else around who could assist.

So she carefully maneuvered her way into the small corner of the garden that Myrcella had banished herself to and slowly sat down on the bench beside her, waiting.

"Everyone else knew, didn't they? I was just too stupid to realize." Myrcella's crying had lessened, but her voice was full of sadness and anger.

Rhaenys sighed, the girl was sweet, and sometimes too delicate. "I don't think very many people knew, my lady, or even know for certain now. It was just... suspected."

"Suspected?" She scoffed. "Margaery Tyrell practically shouted it to all of King's Landing."

"And Lady Margaery is a rival of yours. If anything, people might be less likely to believe it, now." She carefully set a hand on Myrcella's back, rubbing in gentle circles as she would to comfort one of her brothers. 

"Am I even? As if a prince would marry me, knowing I'm--I'm...."

Rhaenys chuckled. "You realize, Lady Myrcella, that as long as no one can prove you're not trueborn, the rest matters little to us? Our father is the child of siblings. A match common in our family tree. We're hardly the sort to blame others for it." After a moment of silence, she smirked and ducked her head, trying to meet Myrcella's eyes. "In fact, I think Aemon might even like you more, if your his dear Ser Jaime's daughter," she teased.

That drew Myrcella a bit more from her mood, a shaky little smile gracing her lips. "As close as he'll ever get to marrying his crush," she agreed, relaxing more.

They sat in silence as Myrcella stopped her tears, though she remained slumped into herself.

"...You really think it doesn't matter?"

"Your...father...is dead. Your brother unlikely to contest your legitimacy, since it would throw his own into question. Your mother would never confirm it, she's spent too long hiding it. You're as safe as any of us can be." She shrugged. "My mother was accused of having me with another, I believe Aemon has heard much the same, and his cousins as well look little like their father. The only true legitimacy anyone has is whether or not they are their mother's child, but men are silly creatures who insist they are the ones who must continue family lines."

"And my marriage prospects...?"

"Certainly not hurt if you seek to be a princess. And if not...well, no one is so foolish to overlook kinship with your grandfather."

Myrcella frowned, considering, and straightened. "You're right. No one can prove anything. And Margaery isn't worth my tears."

Rhaenys stood, holding out a hand to help Myrcella up. "Exactly. Now come, I'm having dinner with my family and would love to bring a guest along."


	13. Jon & Jaime Gen (Time travel AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, like you could have done better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set nominally in the same universe as the last time travel drabble (Jon, Sansa, and Arya all remembering and going together to the Red Keep to fuck shit up).
> 
> I put the drabbles for this AU into a separate collection, now, [Trinity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659911/chapters/44251546).

Of all the changes they'd been able to make to the timeline, it was the little ones that often caught his attention. It was two years into their stay at the Red Keep, their father a put-out Hand, Sansa a soon-to-be princess with the little monster Joffrey wrapped around her finger, Arya a somehow even finer-tuned weapon...and Jon training with the best swordsman in Westeros. Who still had both hands.

It had been a playful suggestion, on Jon's part, that they train with their offhands, and finally he was winning for once. In this world Jaime had never seen a need, but Jon had--he had in the last life, too, having been in too many desperate, awful situations not to. And Jaime had hung over every swordsman's head, the reminder that their enemies could easily take their skills and render them useless.

But here, now, Jaime was still the golden lion, the Kingslayer (though Jon had never once called him such--he'd learned over and over that sometimes the best thing to do was break one's vows, and damn the personal consequences), and through careful displays of respect and irreverent responses to his biting attitude, Jon had become a regular sparring partner.

Watching Jaime, normally a graceful, confident swordsman, fumble the fight, Jon finally took pity on him and disarmed him.

He chuckled at Jaime's outraged expression and didn't miss the near-smirk on Barristan's face.

Neither did Jaime. "Oh, like you could have done better."

Barristan ignored the complaint, looking Jon over. "Even among Northmen, it's rare to train like this. You're not nearly as good, but you're better than any of us with your off-hand." 

He sounded impressed, but also thoughtful, as he so often did near Jon. They all knew why, why Barristan stared at him with distant eyes, why Jaime eventually stayed away and then latched onto him as if he might suddenly be gone (and didn't that give him chills, thinking of what happened to his siblings in this very keep while Jaime was in another section of it). The older Jon got, the more he looked like his birth father, the more the Kingsguard and loyalists around King's Landing watched him.

Something, Sansa insisted, would have to give. Something, Arya hissed, that they could hurry along, because these games were growing dull and the North still needed them.

Jon took water offered by a squire with a nod and a thanks, watching Jaime watching him. "It might not be common," Jon admitted, "but I feel like there's no such thing as over-prepared."


	14. Rhaenys & Jon/Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys will protect Aegon, even against family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is sort of naive/annoying Sansa, but also partially because it's from Rhaenys' pov.

Rhaenys slipped through the shadows, ever so careful not to be spotted. It was normally hard to lose the Kingsguard, but in Winterfell everyone had become, foolishly, more lax.

She, though, knew better. Lady Lyanna (she would never be Queen Lyanna to Rhaenys, no matter what her father insisted) was plotting and even if Ned Stark was the least duplicitous man in Westeros, he would still help his blood gain the throne.

That's why Rhaenys 'dear' youngest brother was marrying Sansa Stark, she knew. Oh, the girl was beautiful, obedient, and most likely won Aemon's favor out of potential matches because of his liking of redheads, but with her came the North and the Riverlands to Aemon's claim.

Rhaenys wouldn't have it. Lady Lyanna humiliated her mother, she would not let her steal the throne from her brother.

It was harder to spy on the adults, but so easy to follow Aemon and his betrothed. They had also slipped their guard, no escort in sight, and while most men would take the opportunity to do something inappropriate with a young lady, her brother was simply holding her arm and talking.

"It's like a song," Lady Sansa sighed out, leaning against Aemon, causing Rhaenys to wrinkle her nose.

"Being married to a prince? You're not upset I'm not a SILVER one?" 

"You look just Northern enough I don't think I'll be able to get homesick while around you," she simpered.

"That's good, as we probably won't make it back North for some time."

Sansa looked more directly at them as they walked along, letting him guide her steps. "We'll need to stay at the court in King's Landing for a long time?" She sounded oddly excited about being in that cesspit.

"Oh, no." Aemon shook his head and Rhaenys knew that the Stark girl probably couldn't hear the laughter in his tone. "I'd prefer Dragonstone for us, regardless, but I meant...well, we'll be just prince and princess, my lady, as soon as my brother has a son...we're free. We can see the wonders of the world, travel through the Free Cities...whatever we want."

Rhaenys almost stumbled into a pillar and steadied herself, physically and mentally. Her little brother was such an idiot sometimes, but he never really changed. She still remembered his silly boyhood threats of running away and joining a sellsword company whenever father made him practice at the harp.

"But...then we will be away from...everything. We won't be much of a prince and princess if we're not even in our kingdom. And...so much happens at court, I wouldn't want to miss anything."

Aemon drew a little more away, putting distance between himself and Sansa Stark that she didn't seem to have noticed yet.

"I...don't think court life is what you think it is, cousin."

She pouted at him, lips quivering. Rhaenys would have been impressed if she didn't have the horrible feeling that it was a genuine expression.

"I'm not a little girl, Aemon. I know exactly what court is like. Mother and my Septa have been preparing me to marry a Southron Lord all my life."

"Two women who have rarely been in the King's presence, let alone to the Red Keep, one of them a SEPTA? Sansa, I think you should speak to my mother--."

"The Queen and I have spoken!" Rhaenys scowled, the Northrons kept doing that, talking like their was one Queen and it was their Stark one. "She's told me all about court. And if there are parts of it I don't like--we can change them!"

Aemon turned to face Sansa, extracting his arm from hers. "Then perhaps my sister or one of her ladies." Rhaenys smiled darkly, thinking exactly what she or her ladies could make of her. "This all seems like a song, Sansa, but even Duncan and his Lady Jenny couldn't do everything they wanted without consequence."

"What does it matter? Your father is the King!"

"King he may be, but he isn't immortal."

"So? Then you or your brother will be King." Rhaenys let out a silent hiss, glaring at the couple.

"My brother will be King, there is no 'or'. Would you wish death upon Robb so that Bran might become Lord of Winterfell?"

She pouted again, biting her lip, ducking her head. Rhaenys wanted to slap her.

"But everyone knows that Aunt Lyanna is the King's favorite. That he'll make you heir."

It was clear confirmation, to Rhaenys, that her fears about the North were true. 

"If he tries, I'll threaten to take the Black," Aemon declared, and Rhaenys stared at him, trying to see any signs he was lying. 

"What? No, you can't do that! It will be the King's will."

"And not the first time my mother has been the catalyst for a grand mistake by him," Aemon's anger, dear Rhaenys even say disgust, had seeped into his tone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my lady, I realize I forgot a prior appointment."

He stalked off, Lady Sansa eventually sulking to who knew where, and Rhaenys stayed leaning against a pillar, lost in thought. She knew she needed allies against Lady Lyanna, she hadn't considered that her youngest brother might prove to be one of them.


	15. Jon & Others Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stood up straighter, chin raised, tense with anticipation of the killing blow.

Desperate, Jon grabbed the pale, odd blade he'd made the Other drop, bracing for chill as he would when gripping ice. But it felt normal in his hand, cold but no colder than anything else. The weight even less than Valyrian steel, the balance perfect. 

He turned, edge catching the next Other's sword, and a delicate song rang out around them, not of steel against steel, but something mournful, beautiful, that made Jon's heart ache.

Twisting away, he resettled into a fighting stance, ready. The Other made him work for every block, every strike and parry, but Jon felt as he had as a boy, sparring against men in the training yard--this was not a real fight, this was a test. Those burning blue eyes pierced into his, contemplative, if Jon dared to give human emotions to these creatures.

He lost track of time, of the battle raging around them, the song of their swords and the skill of his opponent too much of a distraction. Until he stepped, struck, ducked, caught the Other just before a strike and...lost his hold on his borrowed sword.

Stumbling back, ready to dodge in the steps of their broken dance, Jon finally took in the area around them--they'd been left alone, a circle of stamped snow easily divided now that the fighting was over by the bodies and blood at its edges. He was the last man standing, had been left alone so that Other could play with him. And now all the rest were crowding around, blocking what little chance of escape he had.

He stood up straighter, chin raised, tense with anticipation of the killing blow. The Other he'd been fighting cocked its head to the side, them lowered its sword. 

Jon, confused, glanced around again, but no one else had a weapon out, either. He glanced back, then jumped in shock--the Other was so close they were nearly touching. It reached up and gently, as a human might cup a delicate butterfly, took Jon's face in its hands.

They were colder than the sword, but not so cold as to hurt. They felt soft, steady...maybe even familiar, somehow, like a long forgotten memory stirring at the back of his mind.

It opened its mouth and spoke, the sound like ice crackling. Jon frowned, gave his head a little shake, so confused, but less scared.

Another of them stepped forward, to Jon's side, and cupped his ears in either hand. He stumbled and cried out, the noise suddenly painful, too much, too loud.

And then gone. 

He was on his knees, shaking, panting, and the Others watched him still.

"Child of ice," one sighed into the chill wind, "you have been kept away too long."

"There is a fire within you," another sang, the crackling of snow, "desecrating you, imprisoning you that we will bank."

"Do not fear," the Other Jon had been fighting continued, joy clear in its voice as it knelt down to help him up, "for we shall bring you home."


	16. Requests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a Chapter!
> 
> So, I thought I'd offer to do some drabble requests. See below for details!

Please send me any requests to [my askbox on Tumblr](https://manyangledone.tumblr.com/ask). They're too hard to keep track of here in comments.

 **A request is not guaranteed to be answered**. I write what I'm inspired to write and you're not paying me lol


	17. Jon Gen (post rez)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were advantages to having died. Not many, and not any that made up for the dying in the first place, but some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Tree1138's [prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/224495926).

There were advantages to having died. Not many, and not any that made up for the dying in the first place, but some.

Warging was easier, was no longer left purely to dreams and instincts. The cold was now more a nuisance than a worry, barely felt and, after a few tentative trials, not causing any damage to his body, either. The fearful worship of some of those around him proved helpful, as well, especially in forcing them to work together.

The disadvantages Jon could mostly hide. The nightmares of that space between living and death, between his body and Ghost's and back again, that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. The way food and drink tasted dull on his tongue no matter how desperately hungry he might be. 

And the whispers at the edges of his mind. The winter against the kindled flames his resurrection had set in his heart. Even though the blackness of death had been silent, a part of him thought the whispers sounded of it.

The first time he faced wights, after being brought back, was horrifying on a new level--they ignored him. Even as he hacked the apart, they made no effort to attack him. Everyone else was fair game, except the man who had died.

_How much am I like them?_ he would wonder, alone in his room, clutching furs around him because while he did not feel the cold, he also did not know if he'd ever feel warm again.

Worse, so much worse, was the first time he met an Other. All around him the wights attacked, knights, and brothers, and free folk desperately fighting. And the Other, standing at the treeline, staring holes into Jon's very soul. 

He could not move. He had to move. The whispers were so very loud, but they did not drown out the screams of his people.

Ghost jumped him, knocking him into the snow, their mind's brushing as he broke eye contact with the Other. Suddenly, he could move. He could fight, the wights running by him caught easily on Longclaw's blade.

No one had seen, he did not think, or at least no one who would ever mention it. And Jon didn't know who to ask, how to ask, about what had happened, regardless. All he could do was to put more distance between himself and the Others, to always keep Ghost close by just in case, and to hope that their whispers never turned into commands.


	18. Rhaenys & Jon Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys mounts a rescue mission. Or possibly a kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for ForceSmuggler's [Prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/224518156): "Sequel to Chapter 5 where Rhaenys stops Jon from joining the Black."
> 
> I've now moved this verse into a separate fic, [Red Ruins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795337).

It was Ghost that noticed something up ahead and Jon called for everyone to halt. There was an overturned wagon on the road, he realized, and a figure moving around it.

When he reached it, he saw a dark eyed woman staring out from under a massive amount of fur.

"...Do you need help, my lady?" 

Tyrion had already taken charge behind him, he thought, and was directing the disgruntled men to help right the wagon.

"That would be so kind, thank you." Jon didn't recognize her accent, it definitely wasn't from any of the Northern regions, but he supposed it was not so late in the season that people might not be traveling through the lands.

He reached out a hand, gently lifting her to her feet. She stumbled against him, her cheek brushing his own, and he flushed to realize they were of a height. And there was something about her eyes, so dark they were near-black, that felt familiar.

Ghost pushed up against their sides and Jon immediately began to speak calming words to the woman, but there was no fear in her as she scratched around Ghost's ears and cooed at him. Jon watched, struck dumb, and barely noticed when the soft noise of footsteps through the woods reached them.

The guards towards the back went down first, though he couldn't see what had taken them down, and then the others were overtaken. Jon moved to help, but the woman grabbed his arm and smiled at him.

"Don't worry about them, they'll sleep it off." 

He saw a man make a run for it, surely going for help, get caught in a trap a few feet into the woods. He glared at the woman, and then at Ghost, who made no move to help.

"What--what is this?"

"This is a rescue mission."

There was a sting at his wrist and by the time he could look down through her hold, Jon was blinking down at light shackles that she'd somehow placed on his wrists while he was distracted. And a little dizzy. Drugged, he thought, though found the panic that should cause too hard to manage.

"You've found the wrong group! No one here is a captive!"

"Oh, don't be silly," the woman shook her head, "of course someone is. YOU are."

Jon struggled as two large men came up behind him and held tight, a few more righting the cart, and then with a few flips to disorient him, Jon was chained to the inside of the cart and the woman was sitting next to him, draping blankets over them.

He felt like he was stuck in a lucid dream, nothing at all making sense.

***

Rhaenys watched her little brother looking around, probably for some way to escape. He looked so much like Aegon at his age, but his face was much harder to read. It was like Jon said her father's was, she thought, though the few memories she had of Rhaegar was of him smiling.

"Don't pout. You have so much to live for, you shouldn't be throwing away your life at the Wall."

Oh, that was DEFINITELY anger, though with the drug in his system it was adorably impotent anger. "You act like you know me, but you seem to have missed the fact I'm just a bastard. I can actually accomplish things at the Wall!"

"I really couldn't hate Ned Stark more than I already do," she muttered, which caused Aemon to tense up. "Do you know who your mother is?"

Aemon stopped his 'subtle' attempts to escape the shackles and frowned at her. "...You want me to believe YOU, whoever you are, knows who my mother is?"

"I know, because I'm your older sister."

They sat in silence for a long moment, Aemon breathing harshly.

"...What?"

"Ned Stark took you from your dying mother's arms and hid you away at Winterfell, thinking only a few easily controlled people knew the truth. But he was wrong."

"My father--"

"Your uncle."

"...What?"

Rhaenys took a deep breath, patting the top of Aemon's head and hoping that the panic building in his eyes would be easy to deal with. As long as he didn't CRY, she thought she was ready for his reaction. She just wasn't ready for him to cry.

"Your mother was Lyanna Stark."

He froze, then shook his head. "That's not--I can't have an OLDER SISTER if--"

"Half-sister, if you want to get technical, though I'VE never thought of you like that."

"...If...if Lyanna Stark was my mother...then...."

"Rhaegar Targaryan was your father. OUR father." She removed the scarf around her face and the hood covering her hair--the same hair, nearly, as his own, the Rhoynish curls they shared distinctive in the North.

"Rhaegar's children were murdered," he rasped.

She pulled him against her, resting her cheek on his head (for a moment distracted by how soft his hair was, which was unfair, because she knew he must not use half the creams and oils she had to). "No, mother knew we weren't safe in the Red Keep--even if the rebels didn't kill us, the Mad King might have at any moment. She had decoys for us...no one thought that they'd...well...."

It was never a pleasant subject, the thought of the children who had been sacrificed so she and Egg could live, but she understood WHY it happened.

"That's...."

"Your mother was in Dorne, you hadn't even been BORN yet, when we were taken and hidden in Essos. You should have joined us, except Ned Stark reached the Tower right after your birth, and you hadn't been fit for such travel yet."

"But...."

"Didn't you ever wonder, why he just WOULD NOT tell you of your mother?"

"Of course I did! It made no...sense...."

"Exactly. If you're old enough to take the Black, aren't you old enough to keep a secret? Unless that secret...."

"...Was treason."

He was bright, as smart as she had thought he would be, from the dreams. Maybe smarter, still, once he was away from the stigma of being lesser than the people around him.

Aemon shivered, shifting so he could look at her again. "But even if all of that IS true, somehow, that doesn't explain how you came here and...found me like that."

"We knew you were in Winterfell, Aemon. Do you think no one has spies there?"

"...Especially with the King visiting...."

She snorted. "The Usurper is watched by everyone with half a brain, it's true. Your uncle is probably the only great lord NOT spying on him, somehow."

"He's--"

"No, stop, I don't want to hear you defend him. You could have DIED, little brother. Do you know how many loyalists went to the Wall after the war? And what they'd want to do to NED STARK'S BASTARD?"

"That's...there's vows, they'd be my brothers."

Rhaenys chuckled, rocking him a bit. "If all you want is a new brother, I have one waiting anxiously to meet you."

"Here? You want me to believe that--that a Targaryan some would still think of as their King is HERE?"

"No, of course not. He's a teenager, not an idiot." She ignored the instinctive protest he gave at that. "He's in Braavos, once we reach him we'll continue on, making it as hard to track us as possible."

"And...do what, exactly?"

"You're still young and I wouldn't be surprised if you had...less than a royal education. So you'll train and study."

"But what will you do? And...him."

"Aegon. Or Egg, that's what I call him--he was so adorably bald as a little boy and it fit so well. We have plans, but you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. All we want is for you to live, and be happy, and hopefully spend time with us." 

Rhaenys grinned and Aemon gave a tentative smile in return. She thought he might be in shock. She made a note to keep him warm.


	19. Ghost Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost knows his human is special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book verse, because fuck the show, but I honestly think by this point the direwolves should know what names are lol

Ghost knew his human was the best of them. So few had awoken with the old magics, but out of them, his human was the best.

Oh, his remaining grey brother would deny it, would insist that his human was greater, because his power was of the old magics and so much of it, at that.

But Ghost knew there had been others that smelled of that human's scent, that twisted in the white and bloodied trees and watched. Ghost's human wasn't like that. Ghost's human was unique.

His quiet human had the old magics, settled deep into his bones, powerful and true...but he had something else, too. He was like a warm day in deep winter, like bright sun sparkling on the snow, like the warmth of a fire in the cold night.

None could remember one that smelled like that. He heard the jealous ones in their trees hiss that he was unnatural, blasphemous, that fire and ice must always be apart. Ghost knew them as fools, even his wild black brother agreed with him on that.

Only the weak feared his human, those envious of him and his powers. Ghost knew that, his brothers and sister knew that, and someday his human would know that, as well.

They might not always be together, but they were always bound, and no matter how far apart they roamed, they'd always find each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this will probably be longer than this drabble lol But I had to get it out there:
> 
> If you post fic here, please _tag shit_ and make sure they're accurate. There's a clear uptick in the people who are tagging stuff, for example, as threesomes involving Jon, his brother ("brother") Aegon, and another character, because they apparently think "Jon Snow/Aegon VI Targeryana/[character]" means "Jon Snow | Aegon VI Targeryan/[character]".
> 
> There's also just a ton of people who aren't bothering to use any of the Additional Tags. I love time travel AUs in this fandom, for example, and I'll stumble upon fics all the time where the writer never bothered to tag with any of the time travel tags. The ASOIAF fandom on AO3 has _over 30,000_ fics. The average reader who knows what AO3 is like is going to be using tags to find stuff, not just randomly browsing _30,000+_ fics. I for example will read _nearly any_ decent looking time travel fic, regardless of ship, but only because they are tagged when I search for them.
> 
> I've given up commenting about tags to people because after the umpteenth time of basically a "I can do whatever I want" response it gets tiring. But it's a huge pet peeve of mine here lol


	20. Jon AU Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Prince of Shadows," the courtiers whisper behind his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little reminder that "Aemon" is the name I use for Jon when he's not hidden away as Jon Snow.

Aemon has a long, long list of titles by this point in his life, but it's the one that no one announces when he walks into the room that defines him. 

"The Prince of Shadows," the courtiers whisper behind his back, watching him as though waiting for the moment he strikes.

It's funny, the way that title evolved. When he was young he would follow his brother--his silver haired, light eyed brother--around wherever he could. But he'd been desperately shy, knowing only the kind regard of his family and a few servants and knights, and would hide himself behind Aegon whenever others were near.

"The Prince's Little Shadow," they'd call him, cooing over the little dark haired boy he'd been.

As he grew older, as people decided that a second born son _had_ to want more, had to be biding his time, the nickname started to change. He wasn't a cute little boy, he was a war hero (a glory hound), a diplomat (an alliance seeker), a thoughtful young man (a quiet player of the game of thrones). 

If he travelled to the North, he was plotting with his Northern relatives. If he travelled to Dorne, he was trying to fool his siblings' greatest supporters. If he smiled at his sister, he was a seducer. If he smiled at his brother, he was a liar.

Eventually, with no other recourse, Aemon began to embrace the title. He stalked the streets of King's Landing at night, and knew every tavern and hellhole in Flea Bottom upward. He made friends with the sorts of people others looked down on--the Bolton heir, a Greyjoy captain, a disgraced Lannister, a Velaryon bastard. He stopped even pretending to worship the Seven. He traveled Essos from North to South, West to East, with barely a word of where he was. For a lark, for the way he knew it might set the court aflame with gossip, he conquered the Stepstones with Aurane Waters at his side.

He returned to King's Landing on the back of a dragon, but not one of the three that his aunt Daenerys had brought into the world. He wore black armor and kept his face as cold and unmoving as the Wall. 

Now he was not a shadow because he walked behind his brother, he was the long shadow cast across his family, the proof that there were heights that even they could not attain. And he wasn't sure, anymore, that the shadows were where he wanted to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have recently been on a Daemon/Rhaenyra kick and thinking about how the succession problems Jon would face if Rhaegar had lived would probably be somewhere in between the Dance of Dragons and the first Blackfyre Rebellion, as far as logistics went.


	21. AU Aegon/Arya (one-sided Aegon/Jon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegon can't have his little brother, but he's found a substitute.

There was a cruelty in what he did, laced deep throughout their relationship. She believed he cared. She believed that she was the only woman for him--that much, at least, was true.

But it wasn't Arya he loved, it wasn't she he thought of as he stroked her dark hair and gazed into her dark eyes. When he rocked against her in their marriage bed, filling her and pulling little gasps and moans from her normally quiet mouth, he had to bite his lip and not say the name he wished to gasp.

He'd seen them together, the first time he met her. On the surface they looked like siblings and a part of him hated her for that, for that instant connection she had to Aemon, but then he began to see the advantages. He could not have her cousin, his brother--the Faith said Aegon could have his aunt, his sister, his own cousins by blood, he could have his grandmother, even, but they would never let him have a man, no matter how much blood of the dragon was in their veins. 

But he could have Arya.

No one was even surprised when he pushed for her as his bride. It would repair relations with the North, he stressed, who were still resentful over the way his father had handled his second marriage. It would connect the North and Dorne, who could be their greatest allies with the right direction. And, of course, no one could resist the jokes about Targaryan men finding Stark women irresistible. 

She didn't particularly want to be Queen, but she had fantasized about Targaryan queens all her life. And she liked Aegon. And she liked being closer to her cousin, her best friend (and Aegon liked her willingness to keep him nearby, that she as often as he insisted that Aemon always traveled with them and stayed in Dragonstone, or Winterfell, or the Red Keep when they did).

Aemon would never forgive him if he found out why Aegon had married his favorite person, but that didn't stop him. Arya may very well kill him, if she ever found out the truth, but still he continued. He would be King, his life would be sacrifice and compromise, and in this one thing he allowed himself a selfish desire.


	22. Jon Snow & Domeric Bolton (AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wished for a companion. A brother."

Jon crashed through the underbrush, cursing under his breath as his horse fought against him. Their journey by this point was supposed to be relaxed, but they'd been beset by bandits after he'd finally risked the roads again, and Jon knew enough to realize he couldn't fight them off on his own.

He'd lost some in the forest, using every trick he could remember from races with his siblings through the Wolfswood around Winterfell. There were only two on him, now, but his horse was lathered and he was wearying, he did not know how much longer he could do this.

They burst through the tree line into a clearing and there was a shout. He swiftly changed course, bringing his horse around. Men at arms, flying a pink banner. He'd made it further than he thought he had.

The bandits behind him tried to turn and run once they saw the new people, but were quickly brought down. A man shouted for Jon to stop and he did, watching them for any hostile move. There were at least a dozen, all on fresh looking horses, no matter how quick he was they'd run him down.

Reluctantly, he dismounted when asked, keeping his head down and his answers short. 

"You're very good," a soft voice said, familiar somehow. "That accent _almost_ sounds lowborn."

Jon gulped and glanced towards the speaker, flinching back when he met cold, pale eyes. Lord Roose Bolton. They'd never been directly introduced, but Jon had seen him a few times growing up, when he came to meet with his father at Winterfell. And from the look he was giving him, Jon was certain that despite his bastard status, Lord Bolton recognized him, too.

***

They took him back to the Dreadfort, Jon doing his best to keep his back straight, his head high, but he knew the stories about how that place got its name. And he knew plenty of rumors about Lord Bolton to make him worry just what fate could be waiting for him.

He was shown to a room, a bath prepared, and given fresh clothes that were fine quality, though ill-fitting. Then he was brought to Lord Bolton's solar, where a meal had been set out for him. He ate it gladly, hoping that guest rights might stop Lord Bolton from doing something awful to him.

"What were you doing on my lands, Jon Snow, all alone?"

Jon licked his lips and looked down at his plate, pushing the food around with his utensils. "I...got separated from the people I was with."

"And that's why you were pretending to my men that you were a peasant boy, I suppose."

He glanced at Lord Bolton, then away. The silence continued on, Lord Bolton did not seem to mind it, but it was becoming more and more oppressive for Jon.

"I left Winterfell alone," he finally blurted out.

Lord Bolton nodded. "I had assumed as much, given the contents of your bags."

Jon scowled down at his plate. Of _course_ a lord would just search someone's possessions without their leave.

"Why are you running away from home?"

"I just...I had to." 

"Not because you wanted to?"

Jon stiffened, then shook his head. "It wasn't...if I had stayed...." Despite his reasons for leaving, he couldn't bring himself to divulge Stark secrets to a Bolton, and eventually trailed off.

Lord Bolton didn't seem surprised by Jon's lack of explanation and once he'd finished eating, had a servant escort him back to his chambers.

The next morning, Lord Bolton called for Jon again, and this time started up a conversation seemingly unrelated to the previous one.

"Do you enjoy riding?"

"I...yes, my lord."

"And you appear to be quite gifted, if the way you were riding earlier is any indication."

Jon blinked. "...I suppose, my lord."

"My son's greatest passion is riding. His mother was a Ryswell, he inherited his skill from her. The Starks have also been known to breed riders, your aunt, Lyanna, was well-known for her abilities."

"I'm not a Stark, my lord."

Something flashed across Lord Bolton's face, but Jon couldn't identify it. "No. Your lord father would never allow one of his trueborn children onto my lands alone. Nor would he allow one to ward with my heir."

Jon frowned, sure he had heard wrong. "But...."

"I will send a raven to Lord Stark informing him of your presence here." He held up a hand before Jon could protest. "And, as you have made it quite clear you have no wish to return to Winterfell, I will offer you a place here. My son will return in a few days, his time with Lady Dustin has come to an end, and you appearing as you have, now, seems too fortuitous to pass up."

There had to be some angle, Jon realized, lords didn't simply invite bastards into their home. "You're just doing this...so your son has someone to ride with?" he asked, not hiding his skepticism.

Bolton gave him a look he decided might be amusement. "Among other reasons."

***   
Jon spent his days bracing himself for what Domeric Bolton might be like, imagining a mini version of his father, just as cold and unusual. He had a lot of time for such thoughts, because while he was sent to lessons with the Maester and and training with the guards, he had no chores as he would at Winterfell.

When the Bolton heir finally arrived, he seemed surprisingly normal. He did ride well, Jon noticed, as he thought anyone with eyes could. But, unlike his father, there was something looser, more welcoming, about him.

When they were introduced, Jon realized that they still had the same cold, pale eyes and the worry that had been slowly dissipating was back in full force.

He didn't know what Lord Bolton was planning, but he was fairly sure he wouldn't like it.

***

If Domeric was like his father, he hid it well. He had clearly learned social graces elsewhere (from his deceased mother, Jon wondered, or the aunt he'd recently returned from?) and despite being a few years older than Jon, and trueborn at that, was surprisingly gracious.

He was, Jon realized not a fortnight or so into their acquaintance, used to be lonely at the Dreadfort. 

Jon never found out what reply his father had given to Lord Bolton's initial raven, though the Maester had let slip that he'd been exchanging frequent ravens with Winterfell. His father was not particularly politically minded, but anyone could suspect that Jon was being kept as a hostage.

Which was why, many moons after he'd first come to the Dreadfort, he was surprised to find out that Domeric was going to squire in the Vale...and Jon was going with him.

"I...truly?"

"Is it so surprising? Your father squired in the Vale."

"My father was a trueborn son. I had thought...I had thought I'd end up at the Wall."

Domeric rarely displayed strong emotions, so the shock on his face was almost funny. "But...why would he send you to the Wall? He's the Lord of Winterfell and friend to the King, he could set you up with land, or have you legitimized, easily."

Jon cringed, imagining Lady Stark's reaction to _that_. "No, he can't. His wife, she would...." He shook his head, not bothering to continue.

Frowning in thought, Domeric let the matter drop. "I feel as though I should point out, a Bolton lecturing another person on what is normal behavior in a lord's household is...rare."

Chuckling at Domeric's rare jape, Jon let himself be distracted from thoughts of Lady Stark. "Where in the Vale did you say we were going?"

***

On their journey to meet Lord Redfort, Jon was suddenly hit with the fact he'd worked so hard in his earlier attempt to leave the North in secret only to now be leaving accompanied by a few dozen guards and the heir to the second most powerful House in the North. 

When he pointed it out to Domeric one quiet night as they made camp, the other took time to think the information over, as was his habit. "In a way, I suppose we both were given something we wanted by my father. You wanted to escape Lord Stark's domain, for reasons someday you may divulge. I wished for a companion. A brother."

Jon looked over at him in the dim firelight, surprised that Domeric would admit something so personal. Then he realized, reluctantly, that the shouldn't be surprised at all. 

The two of them got along well, and not only when riding horses. Neither of them were loud boys or felt any discomfort in sitting quietly by one another. While Jon was not particularly skilled at instruments, Domeric was patiently teaching him to play the harp, and enjoyed Jon singing in accompaniment when he played.

Domeric wasn't like Robb, Jon's closest blood brother. He was more like Jon himself. Guarded, quiet, careful--even if for different reasons. And unlike Robb, he had no one trying to keep him and Jon apart and Jon never felt the niggling resentment, the shameful envy, he did around his trueborn siblings.

"It's odd," Jon put in, finally, "how we ended up together. But...I'm glad we did."

That earned him a rare smile. "So am I."


	23. Jon & Euron, time travel AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more he lived, the less he even cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly inspired by the time travel in sanva's Valar Botis

Jon was so _sick_ of trying. Every life he awoke, once again, before everything falls apart. And every life he's tried to do _something_ about it. He's tried telling people, he's tried interfering in events, he's tried gaining power for himself.

Nothing has ever made the world a better place. If they defeated the Others, then someone in the South tore Westeros apart, still. If he tried to stop the wars in the South, or stabilize it, at least, then by the time he got back North the Wall was fucked.

The more he lived, the less he even cared. There were only so many times he could lose his family, his lovers, his friends in horrific or unexpected ways. Only so many ways he could mourn someone before just feeling...numb.

This time, he decided he just...wasn't going to try. If he could never win, maybe it was himself he was supposed to take out of the equation.

He gathered what supplies and coin he could and snuck off when his father and brother were visiting a bannerman's keep--Jon was young, but not so young as to draw too many looks, for a boy running errands for a keep or a lowborn orphan looking for work. He'd learned well enough, in previous lives, to blend in to the various positions he'd need to fill.

In Essos, he avoided anywhere he thought Daenerys and Viserys might be--he'd tried going to them before, in a few different ways, and that had never seen a better end, either. He wandered from port to port, already fluent in the languages he needed, but learning skills he'd overlooked last time.

He made it out to Asshai, for the first time, the strictures and folkways of the city keeping anyone who could sense his blood from trying to steal it. But king's blood certainly had its advantages, paying his way to study with those who may have otherwise ignored him.

It was there, for the first time in any life, that he met Euron Greyjoy as something other than an enemy.

Jon was just Jon, as smallfolk didn't get bastard names. He was dressed in leathers and silks, lounging in a smoky, pillow-filled room that one of his patrons kept for entertaining, when the captain made his appearance. Euron seemed more hesitant, less knowing, than Jon had ever seen him, and when they finally encountered each other, Jon took great amusement in prodding Euron into revealing his areas of ignorance.

In this world, it was Jon who encouraged Euron to travel to Valyria and he wondered if he actually would. If he actually had, before.

They were in Tyrosh the next time they met, Jon a guest of the Archon, Euron a man with a growing notoriety. Jon invited him for a drink and studied the changes in him, felt the differences in the energy he held within. He was wilder, darker, somehow. Wherever he'd been, if it was Valyria or elsewhere, Jon thought this was where Euron must start to truly fall into madness, beyond the sadism he'd had before.

Euron tells Jon of the dragon egg he's found, smirking at him as if he knows exactly how interested Jon is in that. While Euron had no idea who he was, not really, he knew he had some connection to the dragonlords of old from rumors that had circulated around Asshai. If anyone could wake that dragon, many of the shadowbinders Jon had practiced with would have said, it would be him.

He tenses this part and that part of his body as they wander to the ship, checking on the knives, wires, potions, and other weapons he's hidden upon his person. Jon was no innocent anymore, if this was a trap he'd go out fighting.

It was not a trap. There was a dragon egg, burning hot under Jon's touch.

And an offer--he'd have one year to hatch the egg, to bond the dragon within, or else Euron would take it back. If Jon did become a dragonrider, he would use his mount in service to the Crow's Eye and his mad dreams.

In some worlds, Euron had been the end of things. Jon had never thought to help him along.

Still...it would certainly be an experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...time traveling Jon giving up completely and ending up being Euron's flirtatious almost-mentor is this weird crack idea I'd had for awhile lol


	24. Jon + the Cannibal (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skagos proves to hold more than just dragonglass.

Jon had just come to survey the dragonglass mines, but something pulled him ever deeper into the caves. It was a tug at his mind, at his soul, but he knew that Ghost was high above, keeping watch with the others as the obsidian was moved from the mine to the boats to set sail for the Wall.

There were many stories of Skagos that Jon had heard growing up and many more than Rickon had hesitantly told him as they began to relearn the other. None mentioned anything deep inside the island, but he knew that didn't mean something wasn't there.

It felt...wild. Dangerous. But not dangerous to _him_. It was the way the direwolves felt, but different.

He reached a point where the caves opened up into a gigantic chamber, dripping with water, coated in shining black dragonglass. As he searched around, he realized that some of the stone wasn't the same. There was a large outcropping of it on one side that had a different sheen.

Unsure what it could be, he drew closer. He took off the glove to his unscarred hand and cautiously touched the stone.

It was hot, almost hot enough to burn, and...moving slightly.

Suddenly, it was moving more than just the slightly, the whole section shifting and turning until Jon was face to face with gigantic teeth and glaring eyes.

He stumbled away, lashing out wildly with his mind for that connection he'd been feeling and--the thing stopped moving. It tilted its head, seeming to size him up. And, he realized, he could tell that it was. That it was curious, cautious, feral still, despite that.

Now that he was really looking, Jon could see that the old texture of the 'stone' was truly scales, not quite the same black as dragonglass, but close. Wings were tucked in close to the body and spikes ran down the back. 

A dragon. This was a dragon. There was nothing else it could be.

Knowing that he wouldn't get out of their alive if the dragon didn't allow him to, anyway, Jon shifted closer again, throwing soft, soothing feelings down that tenuous link. He touched the dragon's snout, petting it gently, so gently.

That amused the dragon, who surely was not used to tenderness from humans. 

"You must have been here for a long time," he muttered, now setting down the torch and starting to pet the dragon with his other hand, as well. It felt right, though confusing, as he'd felt with Ghost at first. "All alone."

The dragon huffed out a quick, hot breath and Jon realized that this particular dragon didn't really care about loneliness. Though, the way it also pulled at their connection, it seemed like despite that the dragon had yearned for a rider.

Dragonrider. By the gods, he'd barely come to terms with who his father was and now he was thinking of himself as a _dragonrider_. Jon chuckled at himself and the dragon purred under his amusement.

"What do you say? I think we're both the odd ones out, don't you? Stuck in the North without anyone knowing we're there....Like we were meant to be." But how long could a dragon _this big_ have been stuck there, waiting for Jon? Surely long before his own birth. Was he really so egotistical to assume this was all for him?

The dragon nudged him, shifted, and he stepped back. He couldn't bring himself to fear the dragon, he felt nothing hostile from it, and was not entirely surprised when it had shifted and moved its wing so he could climb up its back.

"You claim not to be lonely, but letting the first Targaryen you meet ride you?"

Except, no, he wasn't the first Targaryen it had met. He could almost visualize them, from the ground, from the air.

Jon shook his head and mentally braced himself, climbing up the wing and settling in between the dragon's spikes. If nothing else, he was honor-bound to at least _try_ riding the dragon or Rickon would never forgive him.

There were more openings to the cave than he'd ever realized, the one the dragon scurried out of leading to the very top of a mountain, the edges too steep and slick for a human to climb.

Jon clutched on tighter, feeling the knot of anticipation in them both, and then...they were flying. The wind whipped his hair around, his cloak nearly coming off from the force of it, and the dragon turned, flew higher, lower, basking in the joy Jon felt.

This dragon had never had a rider. He didn't know how he knew that, but he did. This dragon wasn't meant for the riders that tried, it was meant for something like Jon. Someone different. Someone stuck in between what he was supposed to be. Vicious when he needed to be, even sometimes when he didn't. A survivor, even when he shouldn't be.

Jon was laughing, watching the world go by around them, sometimes through his own eyes, sometimes through the dragon's. It was through the dragon's that he saw his men down below and after carefully assessing the dragon's mood, asked it to descend.

The looks on the faces of the men when they saw the dragon tore another laugh from him, which only increased at the expressions when they realized he sat upon its back.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd truly laughed. Neither could the dragon remember the last time it had felt so carefree.

"That's...that's a dragon." Rickon's face was lit with pleasure and he was bouncing on his feet. If Shaggydog and Ghost weren't standing firm around him, Jon thought he would have raced towards the dragon.

"It is. He was sleeping deep in the caves."

"It makes sense," one of the others, a man from House Mormont, put in. "Dragonglass and dragons go together, don't they? Look at Dragonstone."

"That thing is as big as the Black Dread, how did it even get here?" Another, Manderly man, muttered. 

"He wasn't always here," Jon put in, stroking the dragons face to keep it distracted from deciding any of the humans around him were a tasty meal. "He came from the South. And...before that, I think he came from Valyria."

There was interesting murmurs.

"And now he's yours!" Rickon bounced, hands clenched in Shaggydog's fur. "I want to try!"

"Not yet, okay? He's like when we first got Shaggy, he didn't like just everyone."

"Shaggy has good taste."

"He does. But the dragon doesn't know anyone yet, we need to give him time."

Jon realized he wasn't even considering leaving the dragon behind. Even with all the grief it would cause him, the reminder to those who hated him that he was dragonspawn in wolf's clothing, he couldn't imagine not keeping the dragon close by.

Now he just had to figure out where at Winterfell he could keep a gigantic black dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never actually get around to it, but sometimes I fantasize about writing some big epic fic picking up where canon stops and along with many other things, Jon will find The Cannibal on Skagos and be The Cannibal's first (known) rider.


	25. Jon & Others Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is the promised prince.

Jon had lost track of where he was hours ago--the snowstorm had hit, veiling the sky in pure white, and he had simply tried to get through it, to find some building or cave to shelter in. The cold had sunk through his furs and skins, into his bones, he couldn't remember ever feeling so cold before.

His horse had fallen, eventually, too cold to continue on, and he had just kept walking. And walking. Until he felt as thought he'd forget what any color but white looked like, forget what warmth even was.

He heard a noise through the storm, it wasn't much, but it was something, and he turned in that direction. Finally, there was a building. The entire outside seemed to have been covered in ice and snow from the storm and it blended in too well with the snows, making it impossible for Jon to determine its size. Not that it mattered if it was a castle or a hut, he would have entered.

The door opened far easier than he expected it to and he stumbled into a bright white interior. Blinking, he thought for a moment he was still out in the storm, but there was walls, here, clearly, and odd fixtures for lights that glowed a soft blue, like nothing he had ever seen before.

Tentative, now, he continued on, the door falling shut behind him on its own. The entranceway opened up into a great hall, with tall statues of odd looking people carved out of glass or...or maybe ice, he realized, as he grew closer. It felt no warmer inside than it had outside, even without the winds.

There was a quaking, crackling sound to the side and he turned quickly, watching through the statues as a figure moved around him. 

"Hello?" he voice was raw, his throat dry, and it took all his energy not to cough.

"Peace, young one." The voice echoed in the hall and he whipped around, realizing that there were now far more figures, clad in white, distorted on the other sides of the statues, still. "You have traveled far to come home."

"Home?" 

Jon glanced around again, confused, but this was not anything like Winterfell. The ceiling crested far too high, the decorations far too delicate. 

A soft, tinkling noise filled the room, like icicles falling to the ground. Laughter, something told him, mirth.

"Yes, you have come home."

"This--this isn't my home."

The first figure had moved closer, stepped around the nearest statue, and it was...it was still distorted. Still not entirely human looking. White, white skin, even paler than Jon's own, and burning bright blue eyes. Hair of silver, lips of blue, with a longer face than any human. And when it reached out, brushing the back of its hand down the side of his face, it had too-long fingers and dark, sharp claws.

It's clothing wasn't white, he realized, because now that it was close to him, the garb was reflecting the dark grey of his own. And the cold that thrummed through the hall seemed only worse now that it was touching him.

An Other. This was what Old Nan had spoken of in her stories, terrors that had cost a younger Jon many sleepless nights.

"This is your home," it insisted, though its voice held little inflection, "just as was promised."

"Promised? I--I don't understand. Who promised?"

More of the laughter. The Other before him didn't respond, it took his hand and tugged him along towards a door he hadn't noticed. 

"Please, I don't understand," Jon tried again, growing desperate. What would the Others do to him? Old Nan had said they _hated_ anyone with warm blood, but...but Jon didn't feel warm. He'd been out in that storm for hours...longer, maybe...and he didn't even remember the last time he'd felt warm.

"You were meant for us, young one. A prince for us." The thing look back at him and Jon thought it might be smiling. "You will shed the lies they wound around you and understand, in time."

"I can't--I can't stay here. I need to go home." Home, home, that was...it was...Winterfell. It was Winterfell he was supposed to return to, not...here.

Hissing displeasure filled the hall even as they left it behind, the mass of Others walking after them like dancers to silent music.

"You were not meant for them, you were meant for us. Always. Promised to us after so long. To quell the fire. To balance."

"What?" Jon felt overwhelmed, close to tears, scared and confused. He was only supposed to be away for an hour or two, wasn't he? When was that? How many days ago?

Hands, dozens of cold, taloned hands, settled on his back. Stroking, as if they could comfort him.

"Do not despair. We will quell the fire. You will be free of it."

"Ours," one of them murmured, and the others took it up. "Our promised. Our prince."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just thinking of, like, how the Others are supposed to be like Sidhe and the stories of people getting lost in their realms and forgetting their way out.


	26. Jon + Daenerys (AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...and so she offers you a trueborn Targaryen in exchange for Northern independence."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about all the fics where KitN Jon is betrothed to Dany and all the fics where Sansa takes or hints at taking the Northern crown from Jon when he's outed as a Targ, and then of course the end of the show, and this came about.
> 
> It's an AU where Dany took King's Landing (let's say she burned it to the ground and then blamed Cersei and claimed it was wildfire lol) and is now Queen. She still has three dragons and the North is worried she'll want them back, so Sansa gift wraps Jon up and ships him South as a present to buy Northern Independence.

"And that is why my...cousin sent me to you, your grace. You brought dragons back, she knows how important it is to...keep the bloodline pure," it seemed to pain Jon to say the words, but he soldiered on, "and so she offers you a trueborn Targaryen in exchange for Northern independence."

Whatever she'd expected of Jon Snow, King in the North, Daenerys could have never guessed this. She looked between the silver stringed harp and the red and black marriage cloak again, remembering Ser Barristan's confirmation of their authenticity. How had both sides of history managed to go so wrong? Even with all the kind words about her brother she'd received, she would have never guessed he'd run off with Lady Lyanna to _marry_ her. 

Daenerys glanced to her side--Ser Barristan had been staring at Jon Snow quizzically when he'd entered, but now he appeared as though he'd seen a ghost. _He looks like my brother,_ she thought, _and Ser Barristan hadn't known why._ Now, looking at Jon Snow more closely, Daenerys could even spot the similarities to Viserys. And herself. 

On her other side, Tyrion looked equal parts bemused and astounded. He'd been the one to tell her of Jon Snow's mother being a mystery, he had thought the answer had died with Ned Stark. He could have never known Jon Snow would give out that information at the very first meeting between them.

"You do not seem pleased by this discovery, my lord."

He looked down at the harp, eyes narrowed. "I spent my entire life as Ned Stark's bastard. I defined myself by that. Ned Stark's son. A bastard." His eyes went to Tyrion for a moment, something passing between them she could not understand, then he looked straight at her. "Now I find out that neither of those things were true. And, more than that, the man I thought was my father in all ways let me throw my life away at the Wall to protect the man who killed my blood father." There was rage sneaking through his cold mask, a fire burning in his eyes, and for the first time there was no mistaking the Targaryen in him. "No, your grace, this does not please me."

She studied him, weighing her options. Another Targaryen, something she never thought she'd find again...and, yet, could she risk marrying him? If she could have no children, she would doom their family.

"We will discuss marriage at dinner tonight, nephew," a part of her thrilled at using the relation and she didn't think she'd ever stop, "until then, you clearly need rest from your travels and I need to discuss this new development with my council."

He stared at her for a moment, then gave a quick bow and left the room.

***

When Sansa had told Jon of her plot, he'd been angry at her, at the situation. That anger hadn't subsided yet. It had sustained him on the trip down to Dragonstone, the new capital of Westeros until King's Landing could be repaired, and it had gotten him through that first, awkward meeting with the Queen and her council.

He hadn't expected it to be something the Queen took pleasure in, but every time he lost control of his mask, he could see delight flare in her eyes.

"It does make me wonder, nephew, what your cousin thinks she's doing," the Queen continued, drawing Jon's attention back to the conversation.

"My queen?" How easily those words slipped from his lips, as though he'd never been a king just a moon ago.

"She offers you up as payment, specifically because you are a Targaryen...but if that's the case, am _I_ not the head of your house? Is it not _my_ decision whether or not you marry someone?"

Jon blinked at her, head cocking to the side as the implications of what she said sunk in. "That's...that's true." 

Sansa _couldn't_ sell him. She had no power over him at all, except inasmuch as he was of the North and she was now the queen there.

Smirking, and still looking radiant despite that smug look, Daenerys downed the rest of her wine and motioned to her servant for a refill. He watched all of it, taking in the grace of her actions, the pompous ease of her commands. There was no denying she was a great beauty and one clearly used to ruling. It made it harder to see their relation, though.

"I will not accept you as payment for Northern independence as she cannot give you as such. If your cousin wants to keep her ill-begotten crown, she'll need to give me a much better deal than returning what her father stole from my family."

Jon winced, but he couldn't deny it. He still wondered, sometimes, if there had been more Targaryens in the world, if it had been safer to send Jon onto them, if Ned Stark would have bothered, or if he would have kept him still, letting years of abuse for a fake identity weigh down on him.

"And what will happen to me, your grace?"

Daenerys reached over the table, taking one of his hands in hers. "You will stay here, of course, in our ancestral seat. It's only fitting, as you are the Prince of Dragonstone."

He sucked in a breath, realizing that must be true. If she was Queen and he was the only other Targaryen left...he was her heir.

"And what is your true name, nephew?"

Jon thought of what he'd been told it was, by the creature that had once been his little brother, his anger flaring again. No, he would not take that name, whatever plots his father had been brewing, he would take no part in them. Instead, he thought of what other Targaryen names he knew and the decision was not difficult.

"I would prefer to remain Jon, Aunt Daenerys, but if I can't, it would be Aemon."

"A fine name," she declared, squeezing his hand. "Well met, Aemon of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone."

He ducked his head, returning her greeting near askance. His cousin might have stripped him of the crown he'd been rightfully given, for his deeds more than his blood, but now he'd gained another, and one that no one could so easily take. Fate was a trickster if ever there was one.


	27. Robb Gen (Conquest happening later)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Unified North calls for the start of the Parley!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where the Targ/Valyrian timeline is much later, with the Conquest not happening until around the "future" 
> 
> Since the North was an independent kingdom for longer, they eventually faced the Others themselves, and Other-baby Jon brought peace to the combined North.

The Riverlands had fallen. It was no great loss, the death of a Harren, but Robb knew what it meant for the North. The stories of Harrenhal's fate, and the fate of the Gardeners, was now whispered of throughout his father's kingdom. 

They'd been unsure what to do, but Robb had known they couldn't let the dragons cross the Neck. If they were to fight, let it be on foreign soil, not in a burning Wolfswood. And so they marched south and called on the dragonlords burning their way across Westeros to parley with them on neutral ground.

"He'll come," Arya muttered from beside him, staring across the small distance towards the dragonlords, towards their dragons. "He won't let us face this alone."

"It's said that nothing as magical as a dragon can pass the Wall," Robb replied, keeping his shoulders from slumping at the thought. "They might decide not to bother."

She scowled at him, then wiped her face of emotion, staring coldly once more. It was father's face, but it was also Jon's face, and it reminded him once more of how close his little sister was to their cousin.

As if summoned by her faith, a horn sounded, echoing and chilling, otherworldly. Arya grinned, like a wolf showing teeth.

The Southrons had stiffened at the noise, confusion clearly passing between them, and then they looked towards the forest to the north of their location, just behind Robb's own camp. The trees were parting ominously, the noise of the too-loud footsteps of giants and the skittering of too-large ice spiders greeted them just before the forces of the True North appeared. Jon was at the front on an undead horse, armor the shining ice-like surface of his wife's and father's people.

He came to a stop beside them, his own direwolf going off to play with theirs. "Cousins," he greeted.

His hair was still dark, his face paler than ever before but free of lines. It was hard to remember they were of an age, when Robb had more grey than color in his own hair and lines etched in his skin from worry and laughter. 

"Jon!" Arya looked like she was just holding back from launching herself at him, mindful of their audience.

"Cousin." Robb nodded to him, respectfully, then turned his attention back to the Southron lords and would-be conquerors.

Behind them the giants on mammoths, the White Walkers on spiders, and more creatures of the True North spilled forth, joining his own army. Suddenly, he thought, watching their opponents' widening eyes, the North did not seem so easily fought.

"The Unified North calls for the start of the Parley!" he shouted across the distance, amused when they reluctantly called back their agreement.

Jon went first, a King outranking a Prince and Princess. His head was held high, the ice crown like a replica of the King in the North's looked delicate and beautiful against his hair, as he moved with grace towards the tent. If he'd ever doubted who Jon's father was, _what_ Jon's father was, at moments like this it all became clear. He still didn't know what Aunt Lyanna had been thinking, but he wondered if her greendreams had been of this moment, of the help to the North that Jon could bring.

He motioned his squire forward and the boy hurried to stand at the side of their entrance, announcing their titles. 

"The Night's King Jon of House Stark, King-Beyond-The-Wall, Prince of Winter, the White Wolf, the Lightbringer, the Peacemaker!" The boy looked half-undone, faced with Jon, but he did not stutter. "Prince Robb of House Stark, Heir of the North, Prince of Winter..." Robb ignored the rest of his own introduction, trying to listen for any side conversations their opponents were having, only bringing his attention back when he heard Arya's final title, "the Dark Wolf."

At that, they fully entered, staring down the Southroners with their cold Stark faces. Robb had no care what they called themselves, what titles they'd made up, but instead studied each of the Targaryens and matched them to what he'd been told by their spies and associates. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys. Brother and sisters, married. Dragonriders. Their family had fled from Valyria, from what was being called the Doom that had destroyed it (he would have to remember to ask Jon later if the White Walkers had any knowledge of it, if they'd sensed some magic at work). 

And now they meant to claim all of Westeros as theirs.

Robb met his sister's eyes, then his cousin's, and knew that the Targaryens were very much going to regret ever looking to the North.


	28. Sansa Gen (King Rhaegar AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someday soon winter would come for House Targaryen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Rhaegar wins the war and becomes King, but he's about as much of a fuckboy as expected and instead of accepting the role his family played in the Rebellion harshly punishes the rebel leaders and continues to reign as an asshole.

Not two years ago, if someone had told any of the people in the room that this meeting would be taking place, they would have surely laughed. It would have seemed ridiculous that they were here, plotting such things, and yet now it was the only sure option.

Sansa could still remember the sight of the sword cutting through her father's neck, the king's fervent eyes as he watched. If not for Jon, she might have fainted, fallen to the group and been trampled by the uncaring crowd as it departed. Instead he had left, left the comforts of the Red Keep and the familiarity of King's Landing, clothed them both as merchants and set off for Bravos, then White Harbor. 

Her brother had declared independence as soon as he'd known she was safe. He had fortified Moat Cailin and ordered the production of a Northern fleet. 

Jon had bought them time, sowing seeds of discourse with carefully placed letters before he'd left. Rhaegar's spare heir had known many secrets and now so too did all of Westeros. By the time the squabbles in the South were resolved, it had been too late for them to attack the North without great losses.

It helped, too, that while Rhaegar had meant for Sansa to be a hostage at his court after he'd broken her betrothal to Aegon, now the reverse was true. He did not believe that Jon had betrayed him, seemingly oblivious to the true feelings of his own son. Jon was a hostage in the North according to him, one that kept him from doing his worst. Nevermind that Robb had given Jon the Stark name, nevermind that Jon had given them everything he knew of the Southron forces.

The Riverlands and the Vale played lipservice to their King, finding reasons to not send him many troops, and none of the best ones. Delaying supplies and fumbling battles. Rhaegar, too, seemed to have forgotten that it was their uncle who ruled the Riverlands, their cousin who ruled the Vale. All Rhaegar truly had was Dorne and they would only go so far to "rescue" Jon. 

But that was not the only assistance that the North received--that Varys had helped them escape had been a surprise, as he had no ties to her as Jon did, but now...now she knew why. 

Sitting in the room along with herself and Jon were Northern bannermen, minor lords and ladies from across Westeros, some figures from Essos...and an actual Blackfyre. Well, two, she supposed, now that Varys had revealed his true identity along with his nephew's goals.

"Well met, cousin," Jon said, breaking the tension, and with the one Targaryen in the room seemingly the most at ease with their treason, everyone else relaxed.

Someday soon winter would come for House Targaryen. They would pay for all they had done to her family, killing Uncle Brandon, driving Aunt Lyanna to suicide, tormenting her cousin, executing her father....And Sansa would seat a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne to show how well and truly they had lost.


	29. Jon/Dany (post-rez AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon leaves an ungrateful Westeros behind.

_I give up,_ Jon had thought, staring from the top of the Wall after his resurrection. 

He'd given so much to guard the realms of men, had sacrificed so much of his own honor, his own comfort, for the Watch and the civilians, and no one had ever listened. They said he did not explain, but how many times must a man explain and be ignored before he can stop?

It wasn't even Arya had Winterfell. It had never been Arya at Winterfell.

Everything had been for naught.

He'd left early in the morning, when others were just starting to rouse and those on the night shift had been nearly sleeping on their feet. He stole clothing from the Queen's Men and discarded his crow's garb on the road. 

When he reached White Harbor, he could have been any Northmen fleeing the cold and battles. He did not care if strangers thought him a coward, his heart was closed to them and their sneers now.

Essos was far more foreign than any free folk camp had been, but near as freeing. He might be obviously a foreigner, but no one cared much for why he'd left Westeros, not when it was so easy to assume with the wars ravaging his homeland.

But being so very Westerosi as he traveled meant it was only a matter of time before he fell under the attention of the Dragon Queen's advisers. 

"I knew a Targaryen," he told her, after the initial pomp and circumstance of the throne room.

She'd scoffed, then quietened as he spun the tale of Maester Aemon. She was hard, a kindred spirit in that regard he believed, and she spilt no tears over the last of her family, but she did appreciate the tales.

Soon he was invited to dine with her. Soon, he was invited, at times, to share her bed. He'd left his vows behind with his lifesblood on the snow at the Wall and he gave into the fire burning inside of him for her. The only thing he felt guilty about was in knowing that Ygritte could never compare.

The Queen's Essosi seemed to favor Jon as she did, perhaps because she did. Even her sellsword lover Daario, who often warmed her bed when Jon did not (and, at times, when he did), seemed to warm to him quickly, sparring with him every few days and trying to tempt him into the life of selling his sword (Jon had left Longclaw at the Wall, caring just enough not to deprive them of the weapon, and it was the castle forged steel he'd brought to the Wall from Winterfell strapped to his waist until Daenerys had replaced it). 

The Queen's Westerosi, though, they were a different matter. Jorah and he skirted around each other when necessary. Jon knew Jorah was jealous of him and was not a little disgusted by it, given some of what Daenerys told him of their history. But he also knew that Jorah disliked his father and could easily whisper more poison about the Starks, and by extension Jon, if he wished. Ser Barristan seemed unsettled by him, suspicious though polite enough, and willing to train when Jon got up the nerve to ask (to lock blades with Ser Barristan the Bold was surely any boy's dream). Tyrion....

Tyrion had changed. Jon would never forget his advice, his willingness to tell Jon the truth of the world, and would always be thankful of it. But that Tyrion and this were like two different people. He did not seem to think so, he seemed to think Jon was one of the few friends (the only friend?) he had left, and so Jon did his best to act like it was normal between them. Still, he did not know if he could count him as an ally.

Especially as Daenerys, and Jon, and the Essosi had all landed on the same page--that Daenerys was Queen of the Bay of Dragons and had no reason to venture to the ungrateful West. Let them squabble over their paltry lands (let them face the white walkers they'd refused to help Jon and his men with) while Queen Daenerys ruled over her own lands.

When Ser Barristan made a few good points to sway Daenerys into considering following her ancestors' footsteps, it was Jon, and Missandei, and Daario who had to run interference. When Tyrion managed to rile her anger at her family's enemies across the Narrow Sea, it was they who had to soothe her. 

That became easier as Jon became a greater part of her life. He was no great adviser to her, he knew little of Westerosi politics and less of the current goings on outside of the North, but the Essosi were fine with him as a lover, as her glorified mistress. And Jon, after so long of struggling with the weight of leadership he'd never wanted, was fine with that. Let others actually make the decisions, let others decide who lived or died.

As long as Daenerys would listen to him when he needed her to, as long as she would value his opinion, he didn't care what he was called.

Westeros had made it clear to Jon it didn't want him and he would not let it take anyone else from him.


	30. fAegon & Jon (Gen)

Jon looked up at a sound near the door, ceasing his struggling with the ties holding him to the chair he'd woken up in. The room was not what he'd expected--not a cell, but an opulent bedroom. Even the chair he was on was comfortable, the ropes soft and carefully secured so it was hard for him to hurt himself (so it was difficult for him to dislocate a thumb or otherwise slip through them).

Through the door entered two men garbed in Kingsguard white and another figure, dressed in black and red, with silver hair and purple-blue eyes.

"King Aegon," he muttered. "What is the meaning of this?"

The imposter king stopped only a few feet away. If Jon's legs had been freed he could have kicked him, for as much good that would do with the two armed knights in the room.

"You weren't going to see reason, so I had to get you away from that mad woman somehow, little brother."

"What--that--," Jon shook his head, trying to clear it from whatever drugs they'd given him, and took a breath for calm. "You mean to use me as a hostage? For she is my wife, I will not betray her."

"She is your wife no longer. Her barrenness is known to us, and now to the High Septon, who agreed it was a just reason to annul the marriage between you."

"You have no right!"

"I am your king and the head of our house, _you_ had no right to marry without my approval," Aegon countered and Jon could only seethe. 

Daenerys had told him of Aegon even before they'd known of him, of the mummer's dragon she'd worried Jon would be when his identity was revealed. When they'd finally heard of the "King Aegon" in the South they'd realized who the warning had truly been about. But Jon hadn't expected the other man to go so far with the charade, to act as though, even in private, they were brothers.

"You are a Blackfyre, you have no authority over Targaryens."

Aegon rolled his eyes, stepping closer still, and Jon tried to hide how he worried at the bindings behind his back. "You don't have to believe every convenient lie she feeds you just because she gave you a dragon. If you could be hidden in the North, why couldn't I be hidden in Essos?"

Frowning, Jon thought through the dozens of reasons Daenerys and Tyrion had given for why Aegon wasn't truly his brother, not sure which one the man wouldn't have prepared a counter to.

"But it doesn't matter," Aegon continued, before Jon could reply, "I have King's Landing, I have the support of the people, I am the King. Daenerys is a rebel, now, a would-be usurper as Robert Baratheon was. And I will not let her win."

He smoothed a hand over Jon's hair, tightened the bindings that Jon had managed to loosen, then turned to leave. "Servants will be in shortly with food. If you prove you can manage that without trying something rash, you'll be allowed to stay unbound," he called over his shoulder.

Both guards left with him, Jon getting a glimpse of two others on the other side who must be stationed there. The door closed firmly, the noises confirming it was being secured from the outside.

Groaning, he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, the room still spinning more than he liked. He had no choice, he supposed, but to play nice and hope he'd get a chance to escape before the battle.


	31. Jon Gen (time travel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's been thrown back in time, as a Stark that hadn't existed, and must try to fix everything on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really inspired by it, but there's a little bit in common with Thowinhouse's Twin Wolves of the North (Jon is Ned's twin in that) so I felt I might be remiss not to mention it.

Jon was still trying to get used to being his own mother's twin brother. He had all of the memories of the old Jon, of the Jon of this time period, but he also knew what was coming. For the world, for the Starks, for himself (his other self? his nephew?). For all he knew, Lyanna might have had a twin at some point, but his father had never chosen to mention a lost infant brother when he'd lost so many other larger figures in his life.

But that he hadn't come into this time, this body, until the Tourney of Harrenhal felt particularly cruel. Was it the Old Gods? The Lord of Light? The Great Other mocking him?

He was too late to stop Lyanna from being a mystery knight, watching in dawning horror as she unseated the first knight of the three from the tourney stands. He could remember finding her with Howland in their tents just before the opening feast, seeing her plotting with him and Benjen, but he hadn't _been there_ in time to stop her.

Something...there had to be something he could do. Surely he hadn't been sent back here just to watch the world fall apart.

There wasn't much he knew of the details of this time, but he remembered his grandfather (father) had gone South once, had seemingly made nice enough with Aerys that he had a brief interest in the Wall. He didn't know if it had ended badly, he hoped it hadn't. If Aerys felt that the Starks weren't his enemies, it could give Jon a starting place.

It wasn't actually hard to join Aerys in the royal box, so few actually wanted to be near him. He was unwashed, unkempt, eyes too-bright and roving over everyone in a disturbing manner. He watched Jon suspiciously as he was introduced.

From there, it wasn't too hard to distract him. To tell him that a laughing weirwood was a blessed sign on his rule, that the knight was mocking his enemies, not the King. He had no great love for the houses of the Riverlands, surely, and that was where two of the knights were from.

He wondered if this was how so many odd figures gained power before the Sack of King's Landing, because it was ridiculously easy to draw Aerys' favor.

In fact...there were quite a few things Jon wouldn't mind changing and it almost all could be done by Aerys. Maybe only coming back to the Tourney wouldn't be the worst thing, after all.


	32. fAegon Gen (Stannis wins the throne AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Stannis' Master of Coin is not what he seems.

"One of my little birds has sung the most interesting of songs from King's Landing."

Aegon frowned at Varys, motioning for him to continue. He'd only bring up such things if they were important.

"You're aware of Jon Stark, Stannis' Master of Coin?"

Jon scoffed. "Ned Stark's bastard? Has he turned traitor against Baratheon? Those two seemed attached at the hip."

"I am, Varys, he was the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, correct? Before...whatever happened at the Wall?"

"Yes, indeed. After that...event...his trueborn siblings agreed that Stannis should legitimize him and give him a position on the Small Council. Or, well, I suppose I should say *cousins*."

"So he's Brandon's bastard?" Jon gave a knowing look. "Not very surprising, but it would cause some succession issues."

"Oh, no, not Brandon's." Varys gave a little laugh and Aegon frowned, not knowing what he could be getting at. "He's Lyanna's child."

Jon had gone white as snow and begin to spew curses before Aegon's mind caught up to the implications. He sat up straighter, eyes boring into Varys.

"Are you saying...are you saying he's *my father's* bastard?"

"Indeed I am, my king. Hidden in the North this entire time by his too honorable uncle."

"We have to get him out of there!"

Jon, slightly calmer, shook his head. "He's Baratheon's man, finding out he's half Targaryen won't change that. He would have grown up hearing nothing but horror stories about your family."

"All the more reason!"

Giving a little cough to draw their attention back to them, Varys added, "I agree with King Aegon. While Jon Stark may be... indoctrinated in the Usurper's lies, he is still the King's brother. And unwanted leverage against his grace if Stannis were to find out."

"How? He's a bastard."

"Ah, you see, what is to stop Stannis from legitimizing him instead as a Targaryen and marrying him to his yet unwed daughter and heir? It may interfere with our King's own alliances."

"Only the most--"

"Jon, he's correct. Don't let your feelings for the Rebels cloud your judgement here. My--my brother is an asset to whichever side has him. We could gain the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale through his cousins if we're careful."

"But why would he cooperate with us? You've also said, Spider, that Stark is considered one of the few friends Baratheon has."

"Ah, he may not be a true Stark, but he was raised one. If we're careful, he will put family before his false king, just as his uncle did."

Aegon narrowed his eyes. "Can you get him out of there?"

Nodding, Varys answered, "Of course. He's quite the trusting fellow, now that all those issues in the North were resolved. You'll be meeting your younger brother within a moon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another entry into my "ways fAegon might handle having a little brother" ideas lol
> 
> I love "Stannis wins and drags Jon off the Wall and gives him a suitable position in KL" AUs and also I'm really into the idea of Jon as someone's Master of Coin lol


	33. Roose + Jon Gen (Vampire AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scent was unmistakable, but it should not have been there.

The scent was unmistakable, but it should not have been there. Roose did not enjoy being confused, but that was what the scent was doing to him. He was quieter than normal as the lords met around the hall, discussing and debating plans for summer with Lord Stark.

Domeric was in the Vale, and well-practiced at taking care of himself besides, he would not smell like a starving childe, so it could not be him. And that bastard boy was back in his lands and showing no signs of being anything more than a human disappointment.

This was someone else, but why would they be in Winterfell? Outside of his own House, there were none of their kind left in the North and very few anywhere in the South, after the destruction of the Targaryens.

As soon as he could, he slipped away from the other lords, following the scent through the hallways. It thankfully did not lead to an area he'd have a hard time accessing, instead it was heaviest in a disused hallway within the servant quarters. The scent of a starving childe made it difficult for Roose to keep his instincts in check and he wondered what sort of strength the childe must have, to not have lost control and attacked someone, yet.

When he opened the door, he found a small bedroom, mostly bare, and a figure curled up on the single bed.

The boy shifted on the bed, realizing he was no longer alone, and pushed himself off to the other side, staring at Roose. His features, at least the obvious ones, were very Stark. It was Ned's bastard.

What woman of his kind would have ever allowed a true childe to be taken by a human? Had Stark kidnapped the boy? Or killed the mother? Did he even know what the boy was?

"You look hungry, childe."

The boy blinked. "What? No, I ate in the kitchens just--"

"You ate food, but it did nothing for your hunger, did it?"

Now the boy's eyes were wider, suspicious. Roose did not wait for more denials, he allowed his teeth to descend into the points they naturally came to and bit into his own wrist. He was old, and had been doing much to hide his heritage, but there was still blood enough within him for such a small, young childe.

The boy did not disappoint. His eyes flared lighter for a moment before he jumped over the bed, latching instinctively onto Roose's arm with what were mostly still his milk teeth.

Purple, he realized, the boy was Valyrian. As Roose's ancestor's had chosen the cold of the Lands of Always Winter to dominate, this boy's ancestors had chosen the Lands of the Long Summer. And to be a childe of Valyria meant he was a descendant of dragonlords.

Ned Stark had never shown an inkling of interest towards a woman during Robert's Rebellion. From the stories, he'd not cared at all for them in the Vale, either. And he'd not just ignored the boy's mother, he'd never even named her....

But there was another Stark who would have reason to have a Valyrian son. A human one, who would most likely not have survived birthing a true childe.

The boy was a Targaryen. Their line was not so dead to magic as he'd suspected.

It did not take long for the boy, starving though he was, to be filled by his first true meal. He pulled off, shivering as the power of the blood took hold. Roose had fed Domeric himself for years, binding his son to his magic, with no others around it would not be difficult to do the same with this boy.

He had no love for humans, pathetic creatures that most were, but he had the instinctive desire to protect a childe. And the knowledge that he could not stand back and let one of the few left be starved to death by a Stark. 

"What is your name, childe?"

"...Jon."

"I am Lord Bolton." The boy nodded, he'd most likely been observing their arrivals from the shadows the day before. "I will talk to Lord Stark about you fostering in my home."

"He won't...he...doesn't want me anywhere else."

Roose narrowed his eyes, wondering if Stark had a reason to suspect the boy would be unsafe around others. It would not do if he knew too many secrets and replacing Starks could be such a bother.

"I have my ways. Until then...I suggest you practice putting those away."

It was a good sign, Roose thought as he made his way back to his rooms, that the boy hadn't even noticed his teeth were out. Stark hadn't managed to repress him too much, yet, with his backwards human ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background idea is that the Others and the Valyrian dragonlords were vampires, a race that looks like humans but lives longer, feeds on blood as well as food, and some other stuff. Now they're mostly extinct outside of the Lands of Always Winter, as the breeding with humans means the families with vampiric blood don't always have vampiric children and, well, so many of the Targs getting killed so often. So the Boltons are descended from the Others and Jon is descended from Valyrian vampires and no one around Jon but Roose realizes what he is. Jon's still young for a vampire and they have a long childhood where they don't yet need blood, but he's getting to the point where that's no longer true.


	34. Jon Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Jon I Targaryen

Jon had heard all about King's Landing from Sansa, but even though he'd never seen it before, he knew it was nothing like it had been. The burnt out portions were obvious to spot, but beyond that he knew many of the people were displaced, that the population had been halved at least by battle, starvation, and disease. 

"I can't do this," he said, not for the first time, but the people around him wouldn't listen.

"You're the only one that can reunite the kingdoms," Lord Hightower stated.

Princess Arianne, newly instated ruler of Dorne, simply rolled her eyes, she'd told him before her opinion on his feelings. Sansa, or Lady Arryn as he tried to remember to call her in public, wife to the late Harold Hardyng, gave him a sympathetic grimace.

"Constantly cleaning up other people's messes," Jon muttered, instead of protesting again.

He straightened, held his head up high, and began walking towards where the High Septon waited with the crown. The ramshackle throne room, burnt badly in the battle between dragons before they arrived, did nothing to make Jon feel accepting of the situation.

The only Targaryen left and now, even though he wanted nothing to do with ruling, wanted to just retire quietly in the North now that the Wall was gone, they were forcing a crown on his head. 

Daenerys had died in battle just before assassins took out Aegon. They, this aunt and brother he'd never even known, had actually wanted the throne. Had died for the throne. 

Jon would have said fuck the throne, if he hadn't been plied with supplies for his people, with trade from the Reach and Dorne. Rickon needed that, if he was going to hold Winterfell until Spring. 

He knelt, letting the Septon mutter his words to gods Jon would never believe in, and stood when he was supposed to, letting the somewhat subdued cheers of the crowd wash over him. At least none of them were happy about this, either.

 _King of the Ashes_ , he thought with a mental snort as he saw glimpses of the melted throne that the workmen hadn't been able to remove from the flooring yet. 

He looked over the people present, more noticing the gaps, the people who should have been there but weren't (Shireen's screams as she burnt, Bran's broken body entwined in a weirwood, his father's morose face as he left for this place where Starks went to die).

But Jon was a Targaryen and in his ancestral home, he was now King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about how we'll get a Dance 2.0 with Dany and fAegon and all the ways their positions already reflect Rhaenyra and Aegon II, and then how Jon would work into that...not really Aegon III, not really anyone's heir, but the last one left.


	35. Rhaegar & Jon Gen (Rhaegar Lived AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mance reveals his true identity

"I know who your mother is."

Jon whipped around, staring at Mance. "How? How could _you_ out of all people know that?"

The King-Beyond-the-Wall gave a mysterious smile, his eyes locked on Jon's face. "I...might not be entirely who I say I am." Silence greeted him, as Jon had no idea what to say to that. "I'm not Mance Rayder. I...met him, while running from my enemies, while he was still in the Watch. He was dying, I needed somewhere to hide. Taking up his identity made sense."

"Why not just _join_ the Watch? Why pretend to be a black brother?"

"The Watch isn't half as safe as you think it is. Do you think, if anyone had remembered Maester Aemon was at the Wall, that he would have truly been left alone after Robert took the throne?" He leaned in closer and Jon found he couldn't look away from the man's eyes, which seemed to be reflecting the light in the oddest of ways. "He wouldn't have been. I wouldn't, if anyone knew who I truly am....You wouldn't, if anyone had known who _you_ truly are."

Breathing harder, unsteady, Jon tried to put together what he was being told. "So...who are you? And what does that have to do with my mother?"

Mance--or the person who was using Mance's identity--sat back with a smile and reached into his tunic, pulling out a cord with a pouch tied to it. "Your mother was brave, beautiful, daring. She rode like a centaur and fought like a knight. She was the greatest woman I ever knew and I have mourned her for nearly your entire lifetime."

Jon didn't know where to start with that--knowing his mother was apparently a great woman, a unique one (just as much like Arya, surely, as their father always claimed), the confirmation that she was dead, that she must have died when Jon was a babe and maybe would have been in his life otherwise, or that this man had been so close to her.

"Who was she to you?" he rasped, finally, deciding that the mystery of Mance himself had to take precedent.

"She was my wife." 

"What? But...then she and my father they...shouldn't you hate me, then?"

"You're confused because you're still trapped in the lies you've been told. She was my wife and you are our son." Mance smiled and tugged off the cord, letting it, and the pouch, drop to the ground.

For a moment, the light around the room seemed to ripple and then, sitting in the spot Mance had been just before, was another man entirely. Still fit and lean, but with long silver hair, pale skin, arresting dark purple eyes. 

He looked like the Targaryens in the books. 

"Lyanna and I fell in love as she ran from my father's men. I took her as my second wife at the Sept on Dragonstone before we fled again to Dorne."

Targaryen looks, Lyanna Stark as his wife, Dragonstone.

Jon felt like he couldn't breath, like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.

"Hey, now, it's okay, calm down, son." He stopped, then gave a soft chuckle. "Son, how I've wanted to say that ever since I heard of you. Ever since I saw you in Winterfell all those years past. It was all I could do not to steal you away, but life in the True North wasn't what I wanted for you, wasn't what your mother would have wanted."

"No, this isn't...this is lies. Ned Stark is my--"

"Uncle, he's your uncle. He took you from Lyanna's arms as she died and promised her that he would preserve your heritage. That he'd tell you the truth. But he never got that chance."

"You're Rhaegar Targaryen?" Jon's voice dropped into nearly a whisper, the name feeling like blasphemy on his lips. 

Rhaegar died, at the Trident, before Jon had even been born. 

"I had long dabbled in magic, you've seen yourself what that Red Witch of Stannis' does. I acquired the means to do the same." He nodded at the pouch. "I was injured, but not dead. A few loyalists managed to nurse me back to health and by the time I was ready to reveal myself...everyone was dead."

Old grief was clear on his face and Jon thought of everyone that Rhaegar would have lost in the war--his wife (both his wives, if his ridiculous seeming story was true), his daughter and son, his father and mother. Countless friends, surely, as well. The Rebellion hadn't been kind to loyalists.

"...What makes you think I'm your son?"

"Besides knowing that Ashara Dayne had a stillborn daughter? That Ned Stark had kept no mistress, had no lovers, despite years in Robert Baratheon's company?" Rhaegar, and Jon was willing to believe it if only because there was no good alternative for why a man looking like this, knowing all this, would be here, leaned forward and tapped Jon on the nose with one finger. "That's mine. Your cheekbones are my mother's. Your brow, my father's. If you shaved your head as Aegon V used to and closed your eyes, you'd look a Targaryen to anyone who knew what to look for."

Jon his hands up to his face, cupping it with a growing wonder. All this time he'd wondered about his origin, had it really been written so clearly on his very body?

"Lyanna was pregnant when I had to leave for the war, I didn't want to go, but there was no other choice at the time. I'd made contingency plans but one after the other were ruined, by enemies known and unknown. I didn't know you'd survived until much later."

He could remember his first time meeting 'Mance', as he'd been reminded, of the prank he'd played with Robb and the secret Mance had kept. What must it have been like for the man, to look upon a boy and see his son?

"...Can anyone else confirm any of this?"

Rhaegar gave a shaky smile and Jon realized he must have been expecting far worse denial from him. "Maester Aemon knows who I am, knows who you are. Not just because I told him, but because he knew Lyanna was pregnant at the end."

"This entire time, he's _known_?" Was that why he seemed to favor Jon so strongly? 

"We can trust him. Perhaps no one else here, but him."

"There's loyalists here, sent here after the Rebellion."

"There are, but it's been a long time and the Wall changes a man. We both know that."

Jon grimaced, then his eyes widened. "If you're not truly Mance...then you're not a man of the Night's Watch at all. You've broken no vows."

"I haven't," he agreed, smile turning into a grin. "And you took yours under false pretenses."

"No, I took them, it doesn't matter if I didn't know who I was--"

" _What_ you are. My surviving son, my _heir_."

"...You...you're the...you have a claim on the throne. The strongest claim."

"And once we've taken care of the white walkers, I plan to press it."

Jon was too distracted to protest as Rhaegar gathered him into his arms, clutching him close. He'd never wanted a part in such politics, but he didn't think he'd get a chance to avoid it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a silly theory that Mance is Rhaegar (or like five other characters) because of the emphasis on him wearing rubies on his armor and how the red priests/priestesses use rubies in their glamours. Just thought I'd play around with it.


	36. Jon (w hints of Jon/Dany) (GoT ending AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Jon failed and Daenerys rules Westeros after burning down King's Landing. (Dark Dany)

The North's wellbeing, Sansa's very life, were like a collar around Jon's neck. Here in King's Landing, even after the Great Burning, everyone was a mummer, and now Jon was no different. He wore the clothing Daenerys had made for him, the crown she'd given him, stood at her side and acted the obedient heir. 

He married the woman she chose for him and fucked her as Daenerys watched, jealousy fierce in her gaze and punishment delivered by her hands after, even though he was only following her orders.

Jon never dared say the words outloud, but he often wondered if this was what slavery felt like. He belonged to Daenerys, he could not escape her and he had to obey her. He felt listless, useless. He cried more than he liked to admit, when he was able to have a few moments alone.

His gaze was not the only broken one, though. After Daenerys had taken the capital, she had not suddenly offered peace and kindness to the lords and ladies of the realm who hadn't declared for her. No, half of what was left were second or third sons, or daughters now the only ones of ancient bloodlines left. Children had been taken as hostages, lands and titles reapportioned.

They all lived at the whim of the Queen and her dragon, and her savage, foreign armies, now. Every one of them with just a little too much to lose to risk rising against her. She'd made enough of an example of Tyrion, and Casterly Rock, for that.

Still, Jon held out hope that not everything would be horrible. Daenerys had promised they would raise his children together, when he'd finally gotten up the nerve to ask her about it. And Arya was still at large, out there somewhere, a constant threat to remind Daenerys that there were limits to her power.

Maybe even, someday, Jon would stop noticing the bars of his gilded cage.


	37. Rhaegar Gen (King Rhaegar AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rheagar greets his new son.

A son. He had another son.

Rhaegar took the boy from the wetnurse, staring down at his long, pale face. He already had tufts of dark hair and his eyes were very dark, though they seemed more grey than purple. Lyanna's son.

She'd jokingly told him it would be a boy more than once, but he'd dismissed it, sure of his interpretations of the prophecies.

He'd been wrong before, thinking he was the Prince That Was Promised and he has been wrong again, thinking the three heads of the dragon would perfectly mirror the Aegon I and his sister-wives. 

Perhaps it was Rhaenys who was the promised one, meant to turn Westeros on its head by marrying her two brothers? He did not know, perhaps would never know, what having a second son meant.

Half-brothers were often trouble in their family's history, though the same could be said about full-siblings, he supposed. Certainly comparisons to Daemon Blackfyre would not be allowed, or valid, as Rhaegar had married Lyanna before the High Septon himself and he would not be favoring this boy over his heir nor allowing any rumors to fester that Aegon wasn't legitimate.

"We've been calling him Jon, your grace. Lyanna...she...wasn't sure what to name him."

Rhaegar looked back up at the other adults, eyes locking on the cold face of Eddard Stark. He'd gone to fetch his sister and instead found her dying. Rhaegar had only lost his father to the war (and that was a beneficial loss that few would mourn), he could not imagine what Lord Stark was going through.

"Jon? Is there a reason for that?" Certainly his Jon, Lord Connington, on his way back from exile in Essos, could be a namesake. 

"For Jon Arryn, your grace, and King Jon Stark, our ancestor." 

Naming a Targaryen prince who looked like a Stark after a King of Winter didn't really sit well with Rhaegar. His son was ice and fire, would be needed in the coming war, but he could never be allowed to forget he was a dragon.

"I do not know if it would be wise to name him such, my lord. Though certainly as a nickname it could suffice."

Lord Stark gave no indication as to whether that displeased him, though there was some unnameable emotion in his eyes whenever he looked at the babe. 

"You will, of course, be welcome to visit to know him as he grows, and his other uncle and future cousins, as well."

That gained a shaky nod. "My thanks, your grace." Stark looked behind him, at the exhausted looking band of Northerners and Kingsguard. "If it pleases you, we could all use a chance to clean and rest."

"Of course." Rhaegar waved them on, exchanging a glance with Arthur that meant they had much to talk of, then retreated to the nursery.

Rhaenys was most likely with her mother or perhaps having an adventure with her caretakers, but Aegon was resting fitfully in his crib.

"I bring you your little brother, my son," Rhaegar murmured, holding the babe in his arms out to his curious heir.

After a bit of poking and prodding, which Lyanna's son took as stoically as he had everything else, Aegon seemed content to simply grip the babe's foot and watch them. 

"I think I shall name him Aemon, after our uncle, would you like that?" Neither of them gave any response. "Many Aegon's have had an Aemon for a brother and many Aemon's have been great brothers at that." He hoped their relationship would be far different than Aegon IV and the Dragonknight's, but even that Aemon had sacrificed himself for his king. 

"That's Lyanna's child?" Elia's voice startled him and he turned, pulling Aemon away from Aegon and causing the older boy to whine. "Yes, I can already tell how much he takes after her."

Rhaenys was there now, too, and she demanded to hold her newest brother. Once they'd gotten her seated, Rhaegar carefully set him on her lap and went to speak to his first wife, a nursemaid watching over the children.

"Your third head of the dragon. I thought you wanted a girl." There was an edge to her voice and he winced.

"Lyanna thought she was having a boy. She was right, as she normally was with these things."

"Would that it was men that died from childbirth and she and I could rule together." 

The humor was dark, wry, hiding the grief in Elia's eyes. She had only met Lyanna briefly, but she had liked her, more than Rhaegar himself had. To him, she was the ice to his fire, the woman he was destined to have a child with. Elia had accused him of not seeing her as a person, as a naive child, and it was only now, knowing her bones laid in a box traveling North and her child would grow up never knowing her that he knew Elia was right.

He'd thought their grand destiny meant Lyanna would be here with them, but he'd also thought it meant she would give him a daughter.

"It will be good for Aegon to have a brother so close to his age. It is difficult to make friends, as heir to the throne."

Elia nodded, collecting her son and watching her daughter and step-son. "We will need to tell him of Lyanna, others won't let him grow up thinking I am his birth mother."

"But you will be _a_ mother to him?"

She gave him a scathing look, the one that always made him feel as though her family sigil was close to the truth, as well. "We already agreed to that. Lyanna and I had agreed we would work together. I will not go back on my promises to her."

 _Not because you've ruined everything,_ went unsaid.

Rhaegar simply nodded, stroking Aegon's hair one last time before seeing himself out. He still had to meet with Arthur and the others, find out all the details of what happened, and...and hear of Lyanna's final days. She had been a Queen for a time, even if she'd never gone through the coronation, and she deserved the respect that entailed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there are plenty of them that I like, I tend to get annoyed at the seemingly accepted premise that Rhaegar would be disappointed Lyanna had a son instead of a daughter. Even if there was a prophecy pushing for him to have a second daughter, he'd canonically readjusted his views on prophecies at least once before with the PTWP. Anyway, I think he would have just rolled with it.
> 
> I also find it hard to believe he, who was seemingly at least somewhat political savvy, wouldn't have gotten some sort of agreement from Elia about having a mistress, if not a second wife. And she, who surely must have been politically savvy herself given her mother and siblings, would have probably known when it's better to give in to have leverage later. And Lyanna was like fifteen and Elia doesn't sound like a monster, and a Dornishwoman would surely know to blame the married, older, way more powerful dude instead of the weaker, younger girl.


	38. Jon & Dany Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon keeps coming back.

His whole world was pain for a moment, unrelenting, freezing pain. And then it seeped away and his mouth opened, lungs gasping for fresh air.

Around him, servants and guards shifted uneasily, as they always did, and the Queen stood still and silent, watching him with hard eyes.

"You truly cannot die," she muttered, after ordering everyone else out of the room.

They'd cleaned him and clothed him in new garments while he'd been dead. And they'd left out a platter of food and wine that he picked at disinterestedly. It already took him a few days to get anything like an appetite back.

"Aye."

"I had my red priestess in here," he flinched, remembering Melisandre at the Wall, "she said it was not the work of the Lord of Light."

"It's not," he confirmed, looking around the room now to distract himself from the gnawing horror he knew better than to show her. "It's...old magic, of the Stark line. My father's blood brought it out."

And with that knowledge had come the horror of wondering just why the crypts kept iron swords across their statues. If his earliest ancestors there had been dying and coming back this entire time. If there was a limit.

"Targaryen blood." Her pointed look would have made a younger, less experienced Jon flinch.

She finally seemed to thaw, cupping his cheek in her soft hand. "I thought...I knew what you'd said, what your companions confirmed, but when that arrow hit you, when you fell off Viserion...."

"It's not exactly believable, until you see it."

Falling from that height, he was surprised anything was left of him to come back. But somehow he always healed. Back to exactly how he had been just before his men had stabbed him in the back.

"You truly cannot die," she repeated, now with wonder.

She'd lost many people, Jon knew, and now here was one she couldn't lose. It worried him to dwell on what she might do, to keep him physically around her. He'd never meant to stay South.

"I imagine I can, the way my ancestors could. But it's unlikely anyone would think to try." 

Everyone who remained who knew how to kill an Other was loyal to him. Surviving the Long Night had turned even his rivals and enemies into the closest friends. Someday he might take dragonglass to his own heart, but he doubted anyone else would try.

"Aemon," he didn't flinch at the use of the name his mother had given him, the one she insisted on using, "we simply told people you were injured and recovering. You should spend another few days here, then you can appear at court."

"So...this is the Red Keep?" It didn't feel like Dragonstone, didn't have that thrum of old magic, but he hadn't been sure it wasn't the castle of an ally.

"It is," her smile was brilliant. "We won, shortly after your fall. King's Landing is mine. Ours." She gave him a sweet look, too young looking for what he knew of her deeds. "Our family is finally restored."

He nodded, attempting a smile in return. "That's good to hear, my Queen." 

Jon could only hope ruling was enough of a distraction to let him leave. The North called to him and his family, his true family, the one he'd grown up with, could still use him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, everyone is so convinced that Jon's resurrection will be LoL related and considering he's a Stark with clear First Men magic at the Wall I've thought it would be amusing if he came back by other means. Which got me thinking about the differences between coming back multiple times being forced to be by fire magic vs coming back multiple times because it's natural for him lol.


	39. Grey Worm & Jon Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grey Worm finds Jon in the throne room with blood on his hands.

Grey Worm heard the screaming, even as faint as it was, and took off running. It was the throne room, which would have been secure, every entrance into that section of the keep had been guarded, but he wouldn't bet on it being impossible for an assassin to sneak in.

But there was no one there when he barged in but Jon Snow, who was clutching his head with bloody hands and screaming hysterically.

There was more blood on the floor and where once there had been a throne there was just melted metal. But Daenerys, who Grey Worm expected to find, wasn't there, nor was Drogon, who had surely been the one to burn the throne.

"What is it?" he demanded, kneeling beside Jon and shaking him. "What has happened?"

Jon looked at him, finally, eyes wide and red from crying. "Dany," he whispered, making Grey Worm tense. "I--I didn't...I...."

"Queen Daenerys was here? Where is she now?"

"Drogon took her."

The edge of hysteria was building back up in Jon's voice and Grey Worm gripped his shoulders tighter, grounding him. He'd seen Jon face many enemies without breaking down, have his identity torn down around him without such a reaction. He couldn't understand what had caused him to be like this.

"She flew off on Drogon?"

"He took her. He...he took her body." Jon pulled away, hunching in on himself again. "I killed her! I killed her!"

It felt as though the floor had fallen from beneath Grey Worm's feet. The words took a long time to register, because they made no sense to him. 

"I don't know why," Jon continued, hugging himself, rocking back and forth. "I loved her! We were kissing and it--it just--it felt--I _had_ to. At that moment I _had_ to. I don't know why I did it!"

Grey Worm wanted to rage, wanted to shove Jon to the ground and beat him until he couldn't move. But he hesitated, remembering his Queen's paranoia before, remembering the strange magics of the North. If the Starks had wanted to murder his Queen, what better way to do it than by using her nephew as the weapon?

"Did you plan to kill her?"

"No! No! I wanted...I wanted to talk, to reason with her, not...not that. What have I done? What have I done?" 

Jon opened his mouth to start screaming again and Grey Worm stopped him with a firm, but not strong slap. He needed to think and couldn't through Jon's breakdown. 

"What were you doing before meeting her here?"

Blinking, Jon seemed to try to focus again. "I had...spoken to Tyrion, to try to...to find out why he'd betrayed us."

Us, he said, not simply Daenerys. 

"And then you came to speak to her?"

"Yes. I...hadn't been going to. I just...I felt like I needed to. And we spoke, and we...we kissed. And then I...."

Grey Worm did not think Jon Snow had betrayed them. Not with how broken, how wretched he looked. 

There were many magics to control the mind. He'd seen them in Essos. He'd heard the story of the male Stark using a human like Jon Snow could use his wolf. 

There was noise from outside and he glanced through the broken door, seeing a contingent of his own men. Standing, he motioned to them to take Jon away. "He needs bathed, and sleep. Do not let anyone in to see him. If there are any red priests in this place, send one to me. The Queen is...indisposed."

They would need Jon Snow in his right state of mind if they were to find out what truly happened. He could only hope that the blow had not been as deadly as Jon thought, that Drogon had taken Daenerys to get help. But regardless of the state their Queen was in, someone would pay for this betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the many, many things that bugged me about the GoT series finale was how the fuck anyone could find out AND prove that Jon had murdered Dany. Which got me thinking of his reaction and also how hugely unlikely it would seem to anyone that knew him that he just up and stabbed his aunt.


	40. Rhaegar & Jon Gen (Magic AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon dabbled in magics he shouldn't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some other ideas for this verse so I put it in a separate fic, [A Song of Light & Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19775236/chapters/46813564).

"My own son, a traitor!" 

Jon stared up at Rhaegar, shivering from the crawl of angry, dark magic through the room. It was only through his position that he wasn't being addressed in the throne room, in public view, and dealing with far worse. That and the shame it might bring his family, to know that one of Targaryen blood had sided with the Light.

"Well? Nothing to say for yourself? No excuse to give?"

Those purple eyes glared down at him, too-bright, and Jon was glad that his own had faded to grey after so long away from his ancestral magic. He did not look, at first glance, like his father, and that had long been a blessing in the North, beyond the dragons' reach.

"You murdered my mother."

Rhaegar's mouth hung open, the words he'd been starting to say caught in his throat at the sudden accusation. "Is that what those Light _fools_ told you?"

"I saw it. It's the reason I can never communicate with her spirit--you drained her life, her soul, for...."

"For you, my son." Rhaegar's voice was tender, as if the conversation reminded him of his great work, not the senseless murder of a woman he had sworn marriage vows to.

Jon scoffed. "Was it your plan all along? You wanted to experiment, to mix two bloodlines that should be incompatible, and so you sought out a girl who wouldn't know better. Did you even bother seducing her or did you simply bespell her from the start?"

The magic in the room became colder, heavier, and Jon could feel it crawling over him, binding him in place.

"The woman who birthed you was a foolish girl who wanted to dabble in the Dark. She agreed to have my child in exchange for my teachings. She didn't think through what that would entail and even if she could have survived, she would have been useless taking care of anyone, even herself. You insult Elia by giving that girl her title."

He shuddered, looking away, but he could feel his father's stare, on his body, in his mind. He'd never been able to keep him out, Targaryen parents made sure of that early on to keep their children from betraying them. He'd only been able to because his father had been so distracted by a conflict within the kingdom that Jon could slip into the North before he noticed anything amiss. 

"Aemon...you are too smart to think the Light is innocent and good." 

Rhaegar's hands were in his hair, guiding his head to rest against his thigh. The floor under Jon's knees grew softer, as it always had when he'd had to kneel before his father for ceremonies. The magic had warmed, fiery now, familiar and more comfortable than he wished it were. It was the magic of his childhood, of the time before he knew what his family was truly capable of and what he'd been training for.

"And," he continued, shifting Jon's head so he could meet his eyes, "too smart to think you are nothing more to me, to your family, than an experiment."

"...Father..." he whispered, the first time he'd used the title for the man outloud in over two years, unsure if the heartache he was feeling was true or planted there.

"My son," Rhaegar murmured, the words another weight of magic, a claiming into the ether of the world, "my sweet little boy. I should have protected you better from their manipulations. I am sorry."

Jon heard the door behind them open, followed by the heavy footsteps of the Kingsguard. The magical bonds around him tightened again, thickening, and in his magic-dampened state he could not fight against them as he was lifted into the air so that the guards might take hold of him.

"The court, of course, is aware of how the Light has manipulated your mind through spells and potions," Jon went to protest, but his throat was too tight, his tongue would not move, "we will consider the cleansing you must go through punishment for anything you personally might have done."

His eyes went wide. If he could struggle, he would have, his breathing and heart speeding up as near-panic set in. He'd done more than his share of Light magic in the years since he'd left, and more still when he'd been hiding it as a curious child. The process of stripping it from him would be excruciating. 

"Don't look so worried, Aemon, the process will be successful. I'll make sure of that. And once it's done, you can tell me all the information the Light let slip around you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, was thinking of a magic AU and then thinking about how the Northern magic and Valyrian magic are always contrasted against each other through ice vs fire and thought I'd go for some light vs dark lol


	41. Night King/Jon Snow AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Night King's attention has been drawn by a delicate, lonely creature wandering his domain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for abusive behavior.
> 
> Written late at night on my phone because I can't sleep lol

He took it in his arms, shielding the delicate creature from the worst of the storms that accompanied him. Soon the cold would matter not to it, but for now it remained too delicate to withstand such force.

It had taken him on a long chase, had teased him through the mountains, through the woods. At times he had worried that others of its kind might find it, that they'd harm it or try to keep it from him, but his darling proved he was just as eager in their games and avoided all.

As it should, for none other could have the right to it, now that he had claimed it as his own.

But eventually his darling had grown weak from hunger and cold and he'd caught it. He'd wrapped it in his cloak and brought it back to his domain, but for all its attempts to make the chase easier on him, it now acted as though it had not wanted to be caught.

He could not understand it. His darling allowed his warmer embrace to protect it, allowed his power to engulf it. It took the gifts of garments he presented and ate the food he found for it, but sometimes it squirmed from his arms and sometimes it even tried to run.

"Please," it would say in that awful, guttural language he would need to unteach it. "Please let me go. I want to go home."

He did not understand, for he had given it a home. It had no home when he found it, it had been wandering in the deep snows, alone, forgotten. This was its home, he told it, but his darling did not seem to understand.

"No, please, I need to get back to the Wall. Or, or Winterfell. I want to go home. I can't be here, I'm--"

He stopped it. There were guesses he could make for what it meant to say and none of them were desired.

He did not wish to know its allegiance, for when he took the rags his darling had been left with, there was hints enough at that. Such a sight alone had stirred dark memories that he would not associate with his darling.

He did not wish to know its name, for he suspected, too, what it was and knew the truth would ruin everything between them. For it was a vision of purity, of innocence, and to label it with that hated name, the reminder of his betrayals, would be too great a sin.

His darling would remain nameless until he chose for it a new name.

But it kept trying to speak and so he, reluctantly, took its voice. He told it that he didn't wish to, that it was forcing him to do such, but his darling only became more sullen, more withdrawn.

Such would not matter forever, he reminded himself, whenever he pulled it into his arms from the nest it had made of skins and furs he'd given it. Soon enough he would take it and change it, strip away the influence of others. Then it would always be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where out on the ranging Jon gets completely separated from everyone and somehow runs into the NK.


	42. Arianne & Jon (post-GoT)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arianne comes home from exile to fix Dorne, and the rest of Westeros.

Arianne stared at the man, her nose wrinkling at the state of him. When she'd requested mercenaries to fetch him, perhaps she should have made it clear she didn't just want him alive and un-maimed. 

"We'll speak after you've bathed," she muttered, and motioned for the servants to take him away. 

He wasn't so weak he couldn't have fought, but she recognized the face of someone who had lost the will to live. She'd seen it on her own face, once, after her father had banished her for a decade.

But her father was dead and the traitor calling himself the Prince of Dorne couldn't enforce basic taxation among the kingdom, let alone the banishment of the rightful Princess. He'd die soon enough, nearly all of Dorne was backing her and all that was left was to make her move.

First, though, there was her prize.

He returned bathed, garbed in loose red clothing, his face shaved, his hair trimmed, and looking much more like what she was expecting. Of course, he lacked the silver hair and purple eyes, but everyone knew who he was by now, he did not need such obvious tells.

"Aegon Targaryen," she stated, watching the slightest wince wash over his face. "The Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"That's...not true."

"Yes, it is. No matter what that monster and his pet Imp in King's Landing say, it is the truth. You should have been the one named King. You were the one with the strongest birthright."

"I'm a kinslayer," he breathed out, "a Queenslayer."

She couldn't help but laugh. "The Hand of the King assassinated his father in cold blood. From what I can tell, you instead put your aunt out of her misery. Stopping her from burning down the rest of Westeros." She stalked forward, then walked around him, studying him. "Even Yara Greyjoy forgave you for that, once she finally heard the full story."

He was thinner than she liked, wiry from a lack of food, but still strong looking. Short, but she had heard when he was in his right mind he had an air of authority about him. And, really, once she whipped him into shape and placed the Conqueror's crown on those curls, who would deny he was a king?

"I am Princess Arianne Nymeros-Martell, the rightful ruler of Dorne. And your cousin, through marriage." Stopping in front of him, she smirked, letting him watch as she slowly, slowly, brought her hands to his chest and then ran them down to the hem of his trousers. "And you and I are going to take back all that is ours and make those who think they can take it from us suffer."


	43. Rhaenys/Jon (Modern Westeros AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Rhaegar makes an announcement. (Modern Westeros AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always find it odd how many Modern Westeros fics make Jon not a Targ or not a Stark (depending on the ship) just to not be writing incest. It's like, you're writing for ASOIAF, just write the incest you cowards lol So, anyway, this kind of sprang up from that idea. 
> 
> Also, if you're looking for a Modern Westeros AU to read, my fav ongoing one is probably [Embers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916978). It's got everything: Jon not knowing his heritage and falling into a mutually respectful relationship with Dany, Queen Regent Rhaella, Rhaegar being a fuck-up, Sansa being a lesbian, Catelyn bashing, Ghost as the best boy.

Jon nearly choked on his breakfast when he heard the announcement. Glancing around, no one else seemed half as shocked as he was, so at first he thought he'd misunderstood.

But his father, and everyone else, was looking at him expectantly and all he could manage was a weak,"What?"

Beside him, his uncle let out a soft snort, motioning to a servant to pour more wine into their glasses. "I warned you, brother, that letting him be raised in the North would ruin him."

Jon took in his family again, Aegon and Daenerys had already gone back to their phones, but everyone else's eyes were still on him. Especially Rhaenys', who Jon quickly looked away from.

It was true, his mother had taken him North with her. Had told Rhaegar to fuck off and hadn't even spoken of his father or the other Targaryens to Jon for the early years of his life. And Rhaegar, as King, had let that happen, had allowed her that time with their son.

The Northern values, the _Stark_ values, had been ingrained in Jon and there were many things that he still couldn't quite accept as a Targaryen should. "I...I thought that practice was too old fashioned?" he tried.

Rhaegar gave a tight smile. "It had been...going out of style, of course, after your grandparents, but now that Daenerys has brought dragons back, it's necessary to think about the bloodline again."

Daenerys glanced up from her phone, gave Jon an encouraging smile, and then went back to whatever she was doing. She'd probably known all along. Younger than him, but she was the King's sister and if Rhaegar didn't share with her, their mother would.

"Do I get a say in this?"

"Am I that undesirable, Aemon?" Rhaenys answered, before Rhaegar could speak, using the Targaryen name that they always insisted on for him.

"No! No, of course not," he was not practiced in speaking with high ranking women, but he knew better than to let even his sister think she was unworthy. "It's simply...you're my sister."

Sighing, Rhaegar set his utensils down and motioned for the servants to take their plates away. "She is. As your grandparents were brother and sister, and their parents, and many other ancestors of ours."

"...Why don't Aegon and Rhaenys marry, then?"

"Because Daenerys and I are betrothed now, too, little brother." Aegon looked about as thrilled as Jon felt about all of this, but he figured it was more because Aunt Dany wouldn't be the pushover Queen he was hoping for than him disliking the blatant incest.

"...Congratulations?"

Daenerys gave him another one of her charming smiles. "Thank you, Aemon. And to you, as well. The two of you fit so well together!"

Did they? Admittedly, he and Rhaenys did have many common interests. And she had never insulted the more Northern parts of him like many others at court had. If she weren't his sister, he'd certainly find her sexy...maybe he even did, knowing she was his sister.

Maybe he was more Targaryen than he liked to think.

"Yes, well, announcements of both betrothals will be released tomorrow morning. I expect the news cycle will spend a few hours on it before some greater scandal pulls them away, but the nobility will most likely be displeased."

_Because I'm going to be fucking my sister,_ Jon thought, gulping as he realized the Starks would hear about this tomorrow. They'd find it shameful, at best they'd pity him, at worst they'd think of him as some sort of pervert. It didn't matter what the South were willing to accept from the Targaryens or how many dragons Daenerys hatched, the North would never change.

Rhaegar stood, leaving the rooms, and the others departed as well. Jon had hoped to go back to his bedroom and brood, but halfway there a familiar arm looped through his.

"Don't worry, little brother," Rhaenys breathed against his ear, making him shiver. "By the time tomorrow rolls around, you'll be _very_ accepting of our engagement."


	44. Arianne Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doran receives word of Jon Snow's heritage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in honor of the troll who has never left a single positive comment on any of my work and has harassed me about how my works don't perfectly fit their headcanons across multiple fics. If you see large chunks of deleted comments, it's because I've given up on even trying to get through to this troll who thinks the worst of everyone and thinks everyone despises children as much as they do and won't accept that their headcanons are not canon.

Arianne stared at the raven scroll before passing it along, fumbling it into Ellaria's hands. "Lyanna Stark's son," she muttered, trying to rap her head around it.

"I'd suspected," Doran muttered, looking even more tired than normal. "We knew the bastard Stark took home was from Dorne and wasn't a Dayne, there weren't many other possibilities."

"You've suspected that there was a Targaryen bastard in the North and you never said anything?" Arianna knew she shouldn't be surprised, her father had kept so much from her and no matter how much he'd slowly been revealing since her supposed cousin came to Westeros, she knew there was much she'd never get told.

He looked pained. "It was not as though there was anything we could do. We couldn't bring him here without causing suspicion."

"And you would have? Brought him here?"

"Because he is Elia's stepson, Aegon and Rhaenys' little brother. How could I leave him to suffer?" 

Her father had always had a soft spot for any children but his own, but she supposed she could see the reasoning of that. In another life, the boy might have even grown up in Dorne, carefully insulated from the court politics of King's Landing that would degrade and use him. Just like she'd tried to use Myrcella and fucked everything up.

"They say Lyanna Stark was guarded by three Kingsguard. If just _one_ of them had been with Elia...."

"That's hardly the boys fault," Ellaria put in, voice gentle but eyes hard.

Doran nodded, eyes darkening. "Elia was supposed to come here, to Dorne, but Aerys kept her and the children as hostages, instead. I believe she and Lyanna would have been brought together at that point, three Kingsguard for Rhaegar's three children."

"Oh." Arianne deflated. "If they'd been in King's Landing, Aerys wouldn't have let them leave with Elia...."

"None of us predicted what the fallout of the Rebellion could be." Her father's voice was bitter and she knew how for him, in particular, not foreseeing something that in retrospect had been so obvious grated. "We did the minumum we had to, offended by Aerys, some even still upset over the Tourney at Harrenhal, and our princess died for it."

Ellaria set a gentle hand on the arm of Doran's chair, offering her support without touching him and possibly hurting him. "What do you plan to do, now that we know about this child?"

He was a Snow, could have just as easily been a Sand, and Ellaria would wish the best for him as she did all other bastards. Arianne could almost see what it might have been like, a little pale skinned, dark haired boy running around with her uncle's children through the Water Gardens, doted on by Ellaria like she was his mother.

Doran motioned to the missive. "Somehow he's been released from his Night's Watch vows. There's no place for him in the North. I mean to offer him one here."

"Truly?"

"It's what Elia would have done, what she would have wanted. How can I seek vengeance for our family if I don't first honor them?"

Arianne hung her head, thinking again of her own plots--born from a lack of knowledge, but still with consequences she and many others were still paying. She couldn't remember much of Aunt Elia, but that she'd been a kind woman, overflowing with love when around her family. And she knew that her father spoke the truth in this.


	45. Castle Black Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's resurrection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we still don't know how he's being resurrected in the books and I still have so many feels about it and what could happen lol This one is fairly cracky but I thought I'd share.

Jon Snow's body rests in the ice cells for two days before they finally bring him out to a pyre. The battles that had broken out throughout Castle Black after his assassination, between the free folk, black brothers, and Queen's men had cost them far more men than they could afford, and they finally agreed on a truce.

Still, those who didn't follow the red god were suspicious to let Snow's body burn before the red priestess, and a debate raged on for long after the truce had been declared as to how he would be handled.

They did one large pyre, all of the bodies of the fallen upon it, Jon Snow, the first to die, at the top. The Red Priestess said what words she wanted, but then she retreated, not allowed to light the fires.

Other prayers went up around the clearing as the bodies caught and burnt. No one knew what they would do now, how they could expect to survive. The remaining assassins swore that what Jon Snow had planned would be the death of the Night's Watch, but now it seemed that death was looming closer, regardless.

The flames rose higher, burnt brighter, and Melisandre began murmuring something to the Queen, her eyes lock on the fire. A nervous energy kicked up, people shifting and whispering to each other, but no one's eyes could leave the pyre.

There was something not right about it. It took time for most to realize what, though--Jon Snow's body was not burning. All of the others were, and Snow's clothing and hair had burned away, but his body stayed whole. If anything, through the flickering of the flames, it seemed to those pushing closer that his wounds had sealed up, as if they'd been seared shut.

When he sat up, people gasped, people shouted, people stumbled away. The free folk were the first to draw their weapons, though most were not far behind.

He stumbled from the pyre, falling to his knees, coughing and retching once he was past the flames. The snow under him melted, the water steaming.

They waited, many exchanging looks, not sure what to do.

And then he looked up, and it wasn't the glowing blue eyes of a wight that watched them, but it wasn't Jon Snow's eyes, either. They were lighter, no longer grey, but seemed a shade of dark violet in the sunlight.

"What? What happened?" he croaked, all it took for people to rush forward to assist him, wrapping him in cloaks and carrying him back inside the castle.

No one could decide what _had_ happened, though everyone had their theories. The Red Priestess preached for her lord, those that believed in the Old Gods for theirs. The oddest was those who followed the Seven, as there was a niggling suspicion in some of their minds.

Not many Targaryen loyalists remained at the Wall, most had died. But the ones who did were not surprised when Jon Snow's hair did not grow back in the dark shade it had been, but instead a silvery-gold.

"Lyanna Stark's child," they whispered, then declared, no matter how Snow tried to stop them. " _Rhaegar Targaryen's_."

"A prince," Melisandre took up, ignoring the horror on her Queen's face. "Born of the smoke of fire, the salt of our tears!"

For once, there was something everyone could agree on--Jon Snow was something special.


	46. Jon Gen (Rhaegar won AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 3-way civil war has broken out in Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned this to someone in a comment and went and searched for it and realized it was basically complete enough, so am posting lol

"They are going to destroy us! Don't you care at all?" Aegon was in a rare mood, seething rage on display for the small group in the war room. 

Jon, though, just shrugged, letting it wash over him. "You already lost King's Landing to Uncle Vissy, Egg. Let him and the Baratheons break against each other and go put the pieces of the kingdom back together once they're dead."

Off to the side, he heard Ser Arthur give a soft snort. But it was Uncle Oberyn whose attention turned to him, eyes narrowing.

"You seem incredibly unconcerned, given that you're King Aegon's heir, with who ends up on the throne."

"I'm Aegon's heir until he has a son, it is true." Jon took a blood orange from the plate before him, rolling it in his hands. "But I am also Viserys' heir until he has a son."

Sarella laughed, drawing the room's attention away from him. "Oh, of course, we didn't even consider that, did we? You weren't born when the Mad King removed Aegon and Rhaenys from the succession and named Viserys heir."

Long years being shuffled back and forth between Dragonstone and Winterfell had made Viserys see him as the least annoying of his brother's children. The small doses had no doubt been the key, as Aegon had been firmly settled in King's Landing with his uncle as Regent and Viserys had been forced into contact with him even when they were both at their worst.

That Daenerys was enamored with him and Viserys was a doting brother didn't hurt things.

Jon shrugged again, nodding his head at her. "I was not. As far as Uncle VIssy is concerned, his father meant to remove the 'Dornish influence' and would have kept me."

"He's spoken to you of that?" Aegon was frowning at him now, eyes narrowing.

"Not in so many words, but yes. He would probably marry me to Aunt Dany and gain the North through me if he had me present." 

That idea did little to defuse Aegon's anger. 

"And Baratheon? You're not in _that_ line of succession," Sarella asked, leaning forward in interest.

Jon shook his head. "Come now, Sarella, everyone knows by now Lord Robert has a soft spot for me."

When Jon was eight, he was sent to Storm's End as a ward. It was supposed to help mend ties between the Baratheons and the crown--Lord Baratheon had never gotten over Rhaegar "stealing" his betrothed, had long insisted that it had not been Lyanna's wish, and Jon as the fruit of that theft was offered up to Robert as a sacrifice.

It was all the proof Jon had ever needed that his father cared little for him. Many said that no one would be foolish enough to kill one of the King's sons when they were under their care, but more knew of Robert's reckless reputation.

What even Jon had not expected is that Robert saw nothing of his father in him. His most prominent features were Stark ones and Robert would spend much time talking of how he seemed like a combination of his mother and uncles than anything else. Renly once joked that if Jon had stayed any longer, Robert would have begun to believe he was his child, instead.

"But you're _not_ a Baratheon."

"With Edric dead, Robert has no legitimate children. His heir is, therefore, Stannis."

"And Stannis only has a daughter." Sarella was smirking, eyes flickering back and forth as she thought through the possibilities. She had always loved these sorts of puzzles. "Oh, Aemon, this is too much! You're set to be Prince no matter who wins!"

"This isn't funny!" Aegon slammed his hand down on the table to quiet her before stalking over to where Jon sat, gripping his chin and forcing him to look up. "Who do you wish to win then, little brother? Have you been playing us this entire time?"

Jon sighed, encircling Aegon's wrist with a gentle hand, squeezing. "No, brother, of course not. You are our father's heir, father was the last king. The Mad King only named Viserys heir when he thought father was dead and he would have surely rescinded that if he'd lived long enough to know he'd been deceived."

That mollified Aegon. He might have been in a mood, and more paranoid than ever before, but he knew Jon. And Jon _wouldn't_ help anyone else become King. He already had his bags packed and transport arranged, by tomorrow he'd be safely on his way North to let the fools of the South destroy each other over an ugly chair, if that's what they wished.


	47. Jon Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon, in a desperate stand against the Others, gets irrefutable proof of his blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm thinking of breaking this off at 50 chapters and starting a new one, to keep the tags from getting WHOA long

Jon watched the pendant his father had given to him float down and away into the lake, the ice already shifting to start covering the hole he had almost followed through.

The Others approached and he burned with fury. They'd killed so many of his brothers, slaughtered entire villages of free folk, and now he was the only one left that could get the warning to the Wall.

He couldn't die here. He _couldn't_.

Jon fumbled for Longclaw and it was only then that he realized that it was not just his rage that made him feel white hot--he was. The snow didn't even melt at contact with him, it steamed. His clothing was burning away to ash as he watched.

"What?"

Glancing at the Others, he realized he didn't have _time_ for...for whatever was happening. They were almost upon him.

Something shifted inside, deep deep inside, and then roared through him, shaking his body. He ached, burnt, screamed.

And then he was staring down at the world, staring at the Others from a height that surpassed even the trees around them. His anger coiled inside of him, his panic fading to something like conviction. 

He opened his mouth and flame poured out.

The Others burned. The wights fell. The ground behind was dark black with the ash of the plants beneath the snow.

Instinct drove him and he pushed off, moving not his arms but _wings_ and then he was flying. The thrill was more than anything he could have imagined and he went higher, higher than the Wall, clouds brushing over his scales.

A dragon. He was a dragon.

His mother, somehow it must be through her. He couldn't think of anyone she could be, but she _must_ have had Targaryen blood within her. The blood of the dragon ran inside his veins and thrummed through his soul.

Everything made so much sense now. How unwelcome he felt in Winterfell, why his father would never even speak his mother's name but would also never let him foster somewhere--he couldn't let another find out.

And the pendant...silver and rune encrusted, the power of the First Men suppressing, hiding a Valyrian. He'd never taken it off, just as his father had made him promise, and now that too made so much sense.

He swooped lower, scanning the ground for signs of more wights, more White Walkers. There was no fear, just certainty again. He was blood of the dragon and the Others wouldn't even know what hit them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, I read SubZero on WebToons because I'm enemies-to-lovers trash and every time I do I think about dragon shifters lol


	48. Daenerys/Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys comes for an exiled Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, obviously, post GoT.
> 
> Uh, said this last chapter, but I will probably be breaking into a second "fic" in a "series" of drabbles once I hit chapter 50 here. I don't want the tags to be this huge mess that's hard to discern and not very useful to people (anymore than they already are).

"Dany." Jon stared at the ghost, silver and white against the white snow around him, sure that he was hallucinating once more.

He'd done that, sometimes, when his depression led him away from the body of the free folk and to the caves and summits of the True North, with only Ghost as company. The cold and darkness so far north often played tricks on even the strongest mind and his was far from that.

"Aegon."

He blinked, few times had the ghosts of his guilt spoken to him and he could not remember any calling him by his birth name. What new torment had his mind evolved, he wondered.

She looked...disgusted, a little angry, but mostly frustrated. "You're a mess," she muttered, approaching him.

Jon flinched when she reached out, ready for her hand to go through him, and instead it landed firmly in his hand. The fingers dug cruelly into his curls, forcing him to meet her eyes. 

"You murdered me."

"I did," he rasped, tears beginning to form again, even though he'd thought he'd cried them all by now.

Daenerys took a deep breath, eyes narrowing. "...I forgive you."

"...What?" None of the ghosts had ever said such things, but none of them had ever _touched_ him, either.

"I forgive you, you naive fool. Gods know you are the last person to become a kinslayer or a Queenslayer. Whatever caused that will be dealt with." There was no question in her voice, as though she knew exactly what had caused it and how she meant to deal with it. "As it is, you are my nephew, and I have use of you."

"Use? Dany, you're--you're dead."

Her lips twisted into a sneer and she leant down towards him, their lips brushing. "Oh, no, dear Aegon, you failed in your task. The gods had other plans for me. And for you, as well."

He blinked, unsure what she meant, but the words didn't leave him as a large shadow passed overhead in the sky. Drogon landed firmly in the snow before them, steam quickly rising up around him. That particular dragon had not been part of his torments, it had been Rhaegal he saw instead, Rhaegal who he had failed to protect, Rhaegal who he had allowed to fly south while still so wounded and without his rider.

"Your...real...." He'd died, once, maybe he should never be surprised if another comes back to life, especially one who had had her own inherent magic.

She laughed at him and pulled him along towards Drogon. "I am. You are. House Targaryen yet lives, no matter what tricks our enemies use to try to destroy us."

House Targaryen. Jon had not thought of that, of his true identity, in a very long time. It was easier to pretend he was still Ned Stark's bastard than face the reality again. He'd never had time to adjust before, had never had anyone to help him do so, and after...well, everything was Before Killing Dany and After Killing Dany and the After was simply for forgetting. Or trying to.

He didn't know what to say or how to stop her (and he certainly couldn't bring himself to initiate contact with her) and so soon he was being pushed onto Drogon, up his wing, up his back, settling behind Daenerys with wide eyes. Ghost simply seemed to watch, passive towards it, and Jon knew he would find his way back to Tormund. They didn't really need a physical goodbye, not when he knew how to reach him through his mind now, but it was still a hollow feeling to leave him behind.

Flying on the back of a dragon bonded to someone else lacked the visceral thrill he'd felt with Rhaegal and only made his heart ache more. He'd felt like there was a gaping piece of himself missing since Rhaegal fell--something he'd felt miles away--and the wound was still as unhealed as those from his death.

When they finally landed, it was on a beach with troops clustered around them and a horizon covered in ships. He recognized the Targaryen sigil, of course, but there was Greyjoy and Martell, Baratheon and others still. 

"What is this?"

Daenerys stroked her hand over his back, the touch proprietary as she led him towards a large tent. "Why, we're taking your kingdom back, King in the North. And once we have that, it will be so easy to take back the few that remain against us."

"Us?"

"House Targaryen," she reminded him, as if he were a child.

Inside the tent was a prepared bath and he didn't protest as she stripped him and had him step inside. He scrubbed himself in a daze as she lounged nearby reading raven scrolls. At some point, when she'd decided he was clean enough, she motioned him to dry himself and put on the clothing that was laid out for him.

It was made up of buttery soft leather and silky cloth, encrusted with rubies, and after putting it on he realized it looked like something taken out of an old portrait of a Targaryen ruler, such as the ones he'd seen taken out of storage on Dragonstone or hidden in the loyalist keeps he'd visited on the march south. 

He ran his hand up and down the three headed dragon, staring at himself. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the color of his hair or eyes, the length of his face, he couldn't help but pick out the features he'd realized had come from his father.

"There, now you look like a dragon," Daenerys stated, appearing behind him in the mirror. "You simply need to let yourself _feel_ like one, Aegon."

"I'm not--"

"You are. Jon Snow died in at the Wall, you just didn't let yourself realize that." She pulled him around, kissing him fiercely, making him jerk back at the feel of her teeth in his lip. "The Starks betrayed you because _they_ do not see you as one of them. Why pretend when that family won't?"

He looked away. Sometimes out there in the snow he'd wondered why his--cousins--had been so unwilling to even make a token protest for him. They'd _wanted_ Daenerys dead more than he ever had.

Maybe she was right. He glanced over his shoulder at the mirror once more. Maybe they were, too.

"What do you plan to do with them?"

Daenerys smiled serenely. "Make them pay, of course. Make them regret trying to kill off our House for their own gain."

For once, he couldn't bring himself to protest.


	49. Rhaenys/Jon (Rhaegar Won AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By Rhoynish law, Rhaenys should rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by a suggestion for ForceSmuggler who spoke of Rhaenys claiming the throne under Rhoynish law, though not quite all the details lol
> 
> I don't normally make Targs we don't know anything of the personality for complete assholes but, well, it's not like there haven't been a bunch lol

"Just because the two of you are part Rhoynish, Rhae, that doesn't suddenly mean the crown will follow Rhoynish law!"

Rhaenys whipped around to glare at him and Aemon stumbled back, looking away. His sister's moods had always unsettled him.

"So you think I'm less fit to rule than he is?"

"No! Don't put words in my mouth, Rhae. This is about succession. _Andal_ succession. Which is what the Iron Throne keeps."

"And what good has that done? How many amazing women have been passed over for mediocre men? Or, worse, madmen? If the Queen That Never Was had been put on the throne, would the Dance of Dragons ever happened? Would the Blackfyre Rebellions?" She countered and he didn't have to look up to know how her eyes were blazing. "If Aegon continues as he is, he will _get us all killed_. We can't afford to alienate the lords as he does!"

Aemon grimaced. He knew that, had seen the way the realm was starting to come apart at the seams, having barely been sewn back together after the actions of their father. He loved his brother, but he sometimes wished their father hadn't been so caught up by his guilt over the Rebellion, that he could look at his children and see them as they truly were and not his penance to Elia or his great mistake.

"Just because he's a bad king, doesn't mean that moving against him isn't treason. He's the eldest son _and_ father's designated heir."

She grabbed the material of his tunic at his chest, making him look back at her. "So you're saying father was never wrong?"

He flinched and pushed at her, glaring. "That's low, even for you. What I'm saying is that Aegon has the _right_ to the throne. If you want to take it from him, _you'll_ be starting that Dance of Dragons. Or, worse, people will think _I_ encouraged you and claim it another Blackfyre Rebellion."

"You're _not_ a bastard! And I would be doing this to get the throne _for me_. The entire point is to have the eldest child on the throne!"

"How many people agree with you? How many people would think I'm the one that wants it, the bitter half brother?"

That seemed to take some of the wind out of Rhaenys' sails and her grip softened. She brought one hand to cup his cheek and kissed at the hard line of his mouth.

"They would be wrong. We can make that clear to them, somehow, that this isn't about you."

"How? Annul our marriage?" 

She was the one that flinched at that. "No! You are my husband and I want you with me in this! You were the only thing father ever did right, Aemon. And I'm certainly not letting you go so Aegon can try to marry you off to the sister or daughter of one of his lackeys!" 

"So what then?" Aemon asked, voice softer. "Do you think anything short of removing me from the possibility of the throne will appease people?"

"I think you're not giving them enough credit. For one, the North would probably be _happy_ at the idea of you on the throne--father _stole_ your young mother and kept her locked up in a tower for a year, until she died because he hadn't left her with adequate care. They hold little love for the rest of us and a great deal for you, especially if you could put Stark-blood, First Men blood, on that throne."

He was forced to concede that. "And Dorne? You think _they'll_ accept it?"

"After what Aegon said about Uncle Doran? In public?" Rhaenys scoffed. "They will. _Arianne_ certainly will and she's taken over much of ruling in the last few years to prepare to take over for her father. And the Riverlands and Vale will follow your Uncle in the North."

"The Stormlands won't follow us, the despise my existence. The Reach won't, not with a Tyrell as the soon-to-be Queen."

"The Tyrells aren't the only force in the Reach, little brother. And many have never been happy about their rule."

Aemon stared at her. "You really mean to--to destabilize entire kingdoms, undo the work of the Conqueror, just to get a throne?"

"The Conqueror wasn't foolproof, he made a great many mistakes and our family has continued making them worse as the years go on. If a Hightower, or a Tarly, or a Florent is better placed to rule the Reach, it's almost our duty to make it so." 

She smirked and kissed him again, longer and deeper than the chaste brush of before and he found himself giving in, even as guilt wracked him. Aegon was a bad king, it was true, many whispered that the namesake he most resembled was the Unworthy, not the Conqueror as their father had dreamt. But he was still his brother and Aemon still had a duty to him.

"You need not actually _do_ anything. In fact, since you're worried about how it will look with you taking part in this, you're welcome to stay on Dragonstone the whole time. Or Dorne."

"And leave my wife to fight a war on her own?"

"Not on my own. I just...needed to know I had you before mentioning who would stand with me. This will hardly be a war at all, once everything is said and done."

He squeezed his eyes shut. His loyalty should be to his King, but it should also be to his wife, and no one had ever prepared him for a situation where those two weren't the same.


	50. Jon & Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon ends the game of thrones.
> 
> (please note, this collection is capping at 50 chapters, the next set of drabbles is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904575/chapters/47146657).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the end of the book verse, heavily influenced by the show verse.

"Dracarys." 

The throne melted under the dragon fire as all metal did, molten metal pouring down the staircase it rested upon.

Jon turned away from the sight just in time to see Daenerys racing into the room, a look of horror painted across her features.

"What have you done?"

"What I needed to do." Viserion churred nearby, butting his head against Jon's side, and he gave him the rewarding pets that he decided. "This throne has brought nothing but madness and destruction and now it is no more."

Daenerys shook her head, still staring at the mangled throne of their ancestors. "It was a symbol, but it was ours! This changes nothing!"

He straightened, pushing Viserion off to crawl back out of the room. Jon wasn't sure where the rest of Daenerys' troops were, but at least some of them should be joining them soon. A fast getaway would be key.

"It changes everything, Aunt Daenerys. The symbol is gone, the will is gone--the combined Seven Kingdoms is no more. They're independent. Right now, the North is finalizing treaties for trade and defense with most of the other kingdoms."

"You--how could you? This is _our kingdom_! Our birthright!"

"No, it's not. We lost it. Not in the war, not in Robert killing my father or Jaime killing yours. We lost it when we broke fealty, when Aerys murdered a high lord and his heir and demanded the heads of others. It was held together by string after that and Robert's death finally cut the last of them."

Her eyes were blazing with rage and beyond he could just make out Drogon returning to King's Landing. It was time to go.

"You are my family, Aunt Daenerys, and I love you for it. But the North is my home and the Starks are my family, too. I won't abandon them. Rickon is King in the North and nothing you do will change that."

She tried to catch him, but he had planned too well. He slipped away and onto Viserion's back, and then up and out, away from the city that had destroyed so many Starks and Targaryens in its day. 

Like Cregan before him, he'd only been there a sennight, but the changes he'd help create would resonate through the ages. His troops had already retreated North, the kingdoms had prepared their defenses--against Unsullied, Dothraki, and even dragons. And Winter was upon them still. The Essosi invaders wouldn't stand a chance.

He almost felt sorry for his aunt, who had worked so hard to get to there. But she had a kingdom in the east that still needed her and Westeros didn't. It never had. She had come to late to destroy the white walkers, too late to take out the Mad Queen or the False Dragon. Westeros had saved itself and it would not be enslaved by her.


End file.
